


If There's a Reason

by SparrowFlight246



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Complete, Concussions, F/M, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Gay Parents, Gunshot Wounds, Heavy Angst, Hospitalization, I know these tags look bad but it all ends well I promise you, I'm not kidding about the gay here, Kidnapping, Multi, Past Domestic Violence, Reunions, Shooting, Subplots, literally so much gay, there's so much gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-01-08 04:01:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 76,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12246579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparrowFlight246/pseuds/SparrowFlight246
Summary: Theodosia Burr Jr. is shot by George Eacker, and she suddenly finds herself in a fight for her own life as the lives of everyone else around her simultaneously shatter as well.John and Alexander are attempting to stay calm, Eliza and Maria are dealing with a certain James Reynolds and what he's left behind, Lafayette and Hercules are battling their own demons while Aaron is just trying to remember how to breathe through the idea that the one thing he has left in this world very well could leave him too.And Philip... well, Philip's just left to pick up the pieces of their broken normal and try his best to turn them into something resembling okay again.(Same story, different summary, and a few new revisions. Everything's just a little better now! Hope you enjoy!)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (Hey, I changed the summary! For returning readers, I have polished this up a little here and there, but the story remains the same. And for new readers, hello there!)
> 
> Hi, and welcome!! So, basically, this au was constructed around a few ideas, those mostly being the basic modern au, and if it had been Theodosia Burr Jr that was shot instead of Philip. But, this fic will bounce around a lot. A bunch of stuff will be happening at once, so we'll see a ton of different perspectives, subplots, and characters over the course of this story. With some luck, there'll be something for everyone.
> 
> If you like this, please leave kudos, and if you're interested in seeing it continued, please leave a comment! Honestly, though, just reading this, smiling, and going on with your day is just fine by me too, so just go ahead and do whatever you'd prefer.
> 
> Beta'd by Jaysong, and enjoy!!

Theo Burr was shot.

These are the words heard all over the campus of Kings High School on this unseasonably cold October day. The message is whispered from friend to friend, shouted across the lunch room, shared in hushed voices in the teacher's lounge. Those who don't know the girl gleefully spread the dramatic news, overjoyed that something halfway interesting had happened at the small school. Those who are familiar with her frantically text both her and each other, their phones blowing up with panic, but go without one notification from Theodosia Burr Jr. The school is chaotic and confused as a whole.

Of course, no one knows what, exactly, happened, which assists the chaos. What is for sure was that a shot rung out across the courtyard this morning, before class. That ambulances had rushed to the scene. That there was a collapsed student across the street from the school, just off school property, who was surrounded by teachers and nurses for several minutes following the gunshot, identity recognized as Theodosia Burr. That the student had been loaded onto the ambulance and rushed to the hospital. That Theo Burr is missing from school and the brief description they get from some witnesses matched hers exactly.

That all the signs point to the fact that Theo Burr was shot.

School gossips go on a determined search for more information, interrogating teachers, hassling friends, searching the web for any news. They come up empty, and the school stays in the dark. 

Except for one student. One student knows exactly what happened. And the one student had been guided to a cop car for questioning after the crisis had happened, determined to get the police work done so he could rush to the hospital as soon as humanly possible, continuing to infuriate gossips and friends alike by his stubborn silence on the issue. 

But does sixteen-year-old Philip Hamilton care how much anger he's putting the entire school through as he sits in the backseat of a cop car, taken to the police station not as a witness but as a suspect, leaning his temple against the cool glass of the window and trying to remind himself to breathe at least occasionally?

Hell no, he doesn't care.

Why the hell would he?

***

Philip had been there when it had happened. He was a witness. He had been standing beside Theo, defending her. Now, as he sits helplessly in the police cruiser, the entire situation plays itself over and over in his head, forcing him to remember. Forcing him to go back to the moment, to relive the experience, to keep the last instant he was positive Theo was alive fresh in his mind.

George Eacker has been after Theo since middle school. Forever flirting, forever nagging, forever determined to be able to call the girl his own. Not that he didn't already, granted, but with her consent, which a very different matter entirely. 

Unfortunately for him, Theo knew exactly the kind of man George was. Coarse, cutting, vicious. Completely and utterly unattractive in her eyes. But, no matter how many times she told him this, he was unbearably stubborn in his pursuit of her hand, and extremely determined. It didn't seem to matter to him that Theo and Philip have been dating for the past two years.

Philip was none too pleased with Eacker. Never had been, even when he and Theo were just friends and he was forced to just watch him repeatedly heckle the girl. But now that they’re together, it really pissed him off, and now that they’re dating, he could finally do something about it.

If it hadn't been for Theo.

She was the one that refused to allow him to teach the stubborn kid a lesson. She was the one to talk him down from his anger every time Eacker as much as glanced in her direction for the next two years, to assure him that she had been dealing with the man for far longer than Philip had and that she knew the best way to deal with him, which was to ignore Eacker until he got bored. He was a man with a short attention span and things rarely were able to keep his focus for long, so if Eacker was ignored long enough, he would lose interest.

That technique got a whole lot harder when he showed up with a gun.

Eacker had to be just screwing around. Even a kid that messed up wouldn't actually dare to shoot, not when said kid was barely eighteen and could get in monumental trouble for shooting someone in general and especially while on school grounds. In fact, Eacker was taking a huge risk here. If anyone even saw him with the weapon he’d most likely be expelled. But that didn't stop the senior, a year older than Philip and Theo, to flaunt the pistol like next season’s shoes. But, of course, there had to be the dramatic reveal first.

“What are you doing, Eacker?” Philip asked tiredly that morning, really getting fed up with the man’s shit as he approached the couple yet again in the school courtyard, before class began for the day and as Theo and Philip were walking into the school. Theo had rejected this kid an incredible amount of times, until it almost became a game to Eacker. Philip was no longer entirely sure if it was a matter of actual attraction for the senior, or just the thrill of the chase that kept bringing him back. Either way Philip really wished Eacker would just leave them alone. 

But then the pistol was pulled out of the older boy’s belt, causing Philip to take a startled step back. No one else around them seemed to notice the weapon, but as the dark metal glinted in the sun, it was all Philip could see. He didn't realize that he had taken a protective half step in front of Theo. Theo, however, didn't quite flinch, just stared at Eacker like she couldn't quite believe what he was doing.

“Darling, I’d like to ask you to reconsider my offer,” Eacker drawled carelessly, caressing the gun and completely ignoring Philip, who was unsure which of the couple he had meant the pistol for. Eacker’s gaze was fixed on Theo, cool eyes dull. 

“You’ve resigned to death threats?!” Philip snapped, disgusted but also somewhat shocked, feeling as if he was stuck in some sort of overly theatrical soap drama as his classmates obliviously strolled past the situation. He hadn't realized that Eacker would stoop this low, and he definitely hadn’t been prepared for it. But his voice stayed strong, even as his hands shook slightly at his sides. “What the hell? Do you have a death wish or something or are you just plain stupid?”

“Dear, would you mind telling your bothersome boyfriend to shut up?” Eacker asked Theo. He didn't even cast a glance over at Philip, instead keeping his gaze fixed on Theo. The gun hung from his hand, capable of so much destruction and just _sitting_ there, like a ticking time bomb that could explode at any moment.

Despite attempting to be both strong and somewhat stoic, trying to put up a front, a true tendril of fear began snaking it’s way through Philip, curling around his heart and settling a deep feeling of cold into him. Philip wasn’t a big nor scary guy. He was tall, sure, but beside Eacker, he felt like a shrimp. An unarmed shrimp, trying to protect Theo against a shark. 

He really had a bad feeling about this. 

Philip was about to try and snap a hopefully intimidating insult Eacker’s way when Theo set a hand on his shoulder. Her nearly black eyes were firm, long hair spilling over down her back in wild yet beautiful curls that caught the morning light. Philip softened slightly just looking at her despite the situation; God, he was helpless around this girl, and everyone knew that she was probably his biggest influence. Despite both of them being strong individuals, she meant everything to him. 

“Pip,” she commanded softly, eyes fixed on his. “I’ve told him off countless times. He refuses to listen. Just let it go this time around, okay? It’s a waste of breath. He's not going to shoot anyway- he's a jerk, but he's not stupid.”

A small, rebellious, protective part of him wanted to ignore her. Wanted to go against her words. But, Philip knew that it was stupid to keep continuing this. And not to mention dangerous- Eacker's gun was still securely in the senior's grip.

Philip pursed his lips, looking after the wryly smiling Eacker in anger for a moment before sighing in submission. He let his anger go in the breath, still trying to reassure himself that the fear he was experiencing was unneeded. “Okay,” he finally agreed, smiling faintly and without mirth, the small expression agreeing to her words as he tried to keep his eyes from focusing on the weapon. “Let’s get out of here. We're probably going to be late to class anyway.”

Just as the two were turning to leave, Eacker aimed and cocked the gun. 

And then the gun went off.

Philip remembers the moment with startling clarity and unbelievable confusion at the same time. His eyes close in pain even as he thinks about it now, the police car silent with the exception of the driver muttering into a radio and the static filled responses following his murmured words. His jaw clenches to fend off the tears, the side of his head thudding dully against the window, curls pressed against the glass.

He had frozen as he saw the bullet rip into Theo. Gone completely rigid in horror as the blood sprayed from her side, as she went gray in the face, clutching her side, and then hit the ground. Hadn't made a sound. Hadn’t moved. 

Hadn’t protected her. 

He should have protected her.

Suddenly, people were screaming. Students and teachers alike, frantic, confused cries at the sound of the gun. The startling, gut wrenching sounds broke Philip out of his daze, stumbling back several steps as a ragged inhale of a gasp ripped its way down his throat. He wasn't sure when his hand had hand flown to his mouth, but now he was panting through his fingers as he stared at his girlfriend's blood staining the grass.

Eacker was nowhere to be found.

For a stunned moment that lasted maybe a second, or maybe even a fraction of a second, it was as if Philip was underwater, as if the flurry of motion around him was struck down almost to stillness. His mind spun, of course, but one of the main questions was something he couldn’t avoid. 

_Was that a school shooting?_

But then, Philip realized where he was standing. 

Just off school grounds. Just _feet_ away from the property line. Just off the curb that began what belonged to King’s High School, just off where they had to be, just in the perfect place to be deceived. 

_George Eacker had a plan_.

Oh dear god.

Philip unfroze and dropped like a rock to the ground next to Theo, cradling her head in his lap, his breaths coming in panicked gasps. He tried to pull himself back into the moment, tried to keep himself centered, but he felt as if he was about to drift off and if he would never be free again in the same moment. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be _happening,_ not here, not now, not to them and not to _her,_ god, please not to Theo. _No no no no, PLEASE, no..._

Theo’s dark hair fanned out across his jeans, her breathing already labored and also coming in pants, these of pain, as she stared up at him, something like surprise and confusion written in her expression as her eyes searched his face. Scarlet bloomed across her shirt, her hand going to the wound as she tried to say something, tried to speak.

“Shh, no, Theo,” Philip tried to say firmly, but his voice cracked in the middle of her name. He stroked her hair and tried to keep his eyes off of the wound, trying to calm them both while not letting his true emotions and true panic make an appearance. He was a poet, he was a writer, his emotions were at the surface at all times. He wasn’t good at suppressing them, but he tried, he had to try. “Theodosia Burr Jr., stay with me. You’re going to be okay. Stay awake.”

“What the hell was that, what was he _thinking,”_ she whimpered, but she still stayed in control. Philip was somehow unsurprised that she still managed to keep herself together even when she was bleeding out, her ebony skin shining with tears but her disposition still calm regardless.

“I don't know, T. Shh, babe, save your strength.”

He grits his teeth now against the scream building in the back of his throat, eyes still closed against the pain of the memory. He wants to stop remembering there, to pull himself back into the moment and focus on the the cool leather of the seats beneath him, the eerie quiet of the police car, instead of the shooting of the one person he loved the most on the world. But the memory shows no mercy.

A nurse and several teachers came flying to their side only instants after the gunshot sounded. The nurse saw Theo and only went faster, hair tousled in the wind and medical kit clutched in his fist, scrubs meeting the grass with a thud as he knelt beside Theo. By that point, the girl was lying flat on her back, head in Philip’s lap and bullet wound still bleeding profusely. Philip swallowed hard, his mind racing as he tried to keep himself together for the sake of the girl before him. 

“Mr. Stevens,” Philip breathed in relief as the school nurse did a visual once over of Theo. The teachers formed a bit of a shield around the shot girl and her boyfriend, keeping curious students away and allowing the nurse to work with only Philip and Theo as witnesses.

Ned Stevens ignored Philip, focused on the patient before him instead. He was a family friend, had grown up with one of Philip’s dads, and the boy tried to take solace in the fact that he was a familiar figure in the midst of absolute chaos. He needed that familiarity. The nurse's expression was set and determined as his hands ghosted over her, taking in the wounds and what had happened, dark eyes behind wireless glasses narrowed and lips in a thin line of concentration. His glasses caught the sunlight when he reached for Theo, shifting her just enough to move her sweater out of the way to see the wound itself. The bullet had apparently entered right above her left hip, the wound oozing a slow but steady flow of blood that showed no signs of stopping in the near future. Philip tried not to be sick as he watched the nurse work, bile climbing up in his throat. 

Philip presses down another scream as the memory continues, but he can't stop the flashback. Like a television with a lost remote, Philip can’t stop watching, can't stop listening, can't stop feeling. His fist clenches around the car door handle in a fight for control.

Theo gasped in pain when Ned had to move her, but the man ignored that as well. His gentle fingers swept along Theo’s back, and then along her arm. “It went right through her,” he said flatly, the first thing he said since he came to Theo’s side. His tone was calm but stunned, not stopping in his movements but the hidden horror in his eyes. “Lodged in her right arm. Two wounds.”

“What does that mean?” Philip asked frantically, unsure of anything at the moment. For god's sake, he just wanted somebody to tell him something straight. He found himself wanting to pull Theo impossibly closer to him, protect her of the wounds already inflicted, not let the world hurt her any more at all. 

Ned's gaze settled upon Philip's, voice sharp and clinical even as his eyes softened slightly in sympathy for the terrified boy sitting before him. “It means there'll be more blood loss, more catastrophic damage. The wound is severe, Philip.”

“Oh, god,” Philip groaned, watching Theo religiously in fear of looking away. She was conscious, but her face was painfully gray and her dazed eyes streamed a constant track of involuntary tears. But, in a fashion that was so incredibly in character Philip could have cried, her hand found his in a silent understanding of _it's okay._ She was comforting him, not the other way around, as their fingers laced, her's clammy and cold and stained in blood but the firm squeeze that followed just as set as Theo herself. Philip pressed his free hand to his mouth, trying not to sob.

Ned had already moved on, hurriedly asking for some sort of material or cloth. Philip immediately removed his sweatshirt and handed it to the nurse. Although it was cold sitting outside in a t-shirt, the frosted grass forcing a deep chill through his jeans, Philip paid no attention to the temperature. In fact, he almost felt too warm, his heart pounding in his fingertips as he grabbed Theo's hand again, squeezing it once to remind her that he was still there. 

Balling up the fabric, Ned held the sweatshirt up to Theo’s main wound above her hip and pressed down _hard_. 

Theo arched her back against the grass, letting out a cry of pain and coming back into motion and life extremely quickly. She let several profanities fly in a stream of cussing to rival Philip's pop when he realized he forgot to close the garage door, her teeth clenching as the swears faded off into a groan. Her hand was wrapped so tightly around Philip's that he was sure he'd start to lose feelings in his fingers sometime soon, the strength nearly doubling as Ned shifted more of his weight onto the hand holding the sweatshirt, caving in and increasing the amount of pressure. 

“So you are still conscious,” the man grunted in response to the girl’s pain, but didn't stop putting pressure on where the bullet entered. His eyes flickered to her face, dark and firm, genuine but unwavering. “Theo, you’re gonna need to stay with us. Don't you dare slip away. You hear me?”

The girl’s breathing was growing increasingly labored, her eyes becoming unfocused even in the grounding of terrible pain. She was limp in Philip’s arms.

“She’s fading,” Philip breathed. 

“That's what I was afraid of,” Ned muttered, gritting his teeth as he still increased the pressure on the girl’s wound. The sweatshirt was quickly becoming soaked with blood, and it was an unfortunate pale blue color, so you could see every drop of red. 

There were far too many drops of red.

Philip screams in the back of the police car.

Sirens were heard, coming steadily closer to the school, and it then it was just a blur from there. The ambulances and cruisers screeched into the school parking lot, paramedics sprinting to Theodosia. Teachers stepped aside to let them through as the emergency medics rushed to the girl's side. Ned explained her condition and what had happened to them in a fast, fluent tone.

Philip was pulled away, right into the crowd of policemen mixed with students and teachers. The students shouted out panicked messages, and the cops cornered him and fired rapid questions at him before he could even catch his breath from being shoved away from his girlfriend, leaving him confused and frantic in the middle of an interrogation. He was desperately trying to keep his gaze on Theo and make sure he knew how she was doing while simultaneously trying to step around the cops, go with her in the ambulance and stay with the girl for as long as he could. At his distraction and muttered avoidances, one cop reached and shook his shoulder roughly, attempting to get his attention but only causing Philip to stumble over himself and nearly lose his balance

The policeman to catch him was the one to save him. The man was older, most likely in his fifties or sixties, with a kind, sympathetic expression and warm eyes that were currently staring at Philip in pity. For a moment, he just steadied him, but then he began to guide him from the crowd, a gentle hand on Philip’s shoulder as he realized just how dazed, how traumatized the teenager actually was. 

“Come on, boy. You’re just fine,” he said gruffly, dragging a hand over his stubble as he lead the boy away from the police officers, shooting venomous glares at any cop who dared try to pull the boy away from him and never losing contact with Philip's shoulder.

The sixteen-year-old stumbled blindly with the man, his mind numb and heart overwhelmed as the paramedics loaded a still bleeding Theo onto the ambulance, shouting to each other and shooing away curious bystanders. Philip still wanted to be there with her, be right where she was, but he watched as the ambulance door slammed closed and knew it was too late. It wasn't even worth trying. 

Pulling his jean-clad legs to his chest, a broken sob now escapes Philip. He knows that the cops can probably hear him just fine up there in the front seat, that they definitely heard the guttural scream that erupted from him a few minutes ago, but he just can't bring himself to care anymore. Pressing his forehead to his knees, Philip releases the sobs trapped inside him since the moment that bullet made contact with Theo’s body. 

The cop stopped their path a few feet away from the crowd, a steadying hand on Philip’s shoulder. Once they were still, he roughly turned the boy to face him, the teenager’s curls falling in his face as the cop's blue eyes studied Philip, smart and fixed under the rim of his hat and set firmly on the teenager's face. “Boy, you’re going to have to look at me," he said gruffly, both hands on Philip's shoulders as they faced each other head on. "Look me in the eye.”

Philip was grateful for the command; he didn't have to think in a situation where thinking was near impossible. His gaze flickered up to the man’s and stayed there, hazel meeting blue, in a moment of expectation. 

The man let out a slight breath. “What is the girl’s name?”

“Theodosia Burr Jr.” The response was instantaneous, Philip's voice rough and hoarse with suppressed tears. 

“What is your name?”

Easy. “Philip Laurens-Hamilton.”

“What is your relation to her?” 

“She’s my girlfriend.”

“How long have you been together?”

Philip didn't have to think. They just had their anniversary a few weeks ago. “Two years and a month.”

“Do you love her?”

“God, yes.”

“Did you shoot her?”

Philip's gaze was unwavering. “No.”

The cop studied Philip intently the entire time of the questioning, his wrinkled hands never leaving the boy’s shoulders and his wise gaze never leaving Philip’s eyes. Now, the blue hues flickered over the teenager for a long, silent moment before locking into contact again with his hazel hues. “I believe you,” the cop said. “Let’s just make the others do the same.” 

A hand still on the boy’s shoulder, the policeman lead Philip to his cruiser as he called to his partner. As the woman in blue jogged to reach the car and the remaining cops dispersed to interview the other witnesses. 

Now, he swallows hard to try and stop his breakdown, forcing the sobs to subside. He had his little meltdown, he had his unloading session, now he’s gotta pull himself back together for real. His throat is raw from the scream that had scraped against it, the sobs that ripped out of him, and he knows that it’s time he shapes up as he pushes himself back into a sitting position, wiping roughly at the tear tracks down his cheeks. Time he just breathes. 

Breathe, and push away the unimaginable possibility of losing Theo. Push away the horrible idea of his girlfriend never recovering. Push away the very thought of the girl being forever stuck as exactly that, a girl. 

Push away the concept of losing the person he loves most in this screwed up world. 

_Breathe_.

***

Philip isn’t sure how long he’s in the car, but he soon grows aware that the car has slowed to a stop. He glances up from the pointless spot his gaze had been fixed on, tucking his hair behind his ear with a mindless hand.

Officer Franklin, the kindly cop that had taken pity on Philip, parks the cruiser in the police department parking lot. His partner goes into the building to alert the other officers of Philip’s arrival, and Franklin meets Philip’s gaze in the mirror once she’s gone. The boy’s eyes are rimmed in red, hair disheveled and breathing stuttering.

A small, mirthless smile twitches at the corner of the officer’s mouth, looking empathetic and mournful. He had heard Philip’s breakdown, but truthfully, he can't find it in him to blame the kid for it. The teenager is dealing with this way better than he himself would have, that’s for sure. “Let’s get in and get this questioning on with," he says. "That way we can get ya back to the hospital sooner rather than later. How does that sound?”

Philip nods mutely, but then hesitates. His hand hovers overs his phone in his pocket, voice is hoarse when he speaks. “Do you- do you think I can make a personal phone call first?”

Franklin sits back again, looking thoughtful as his eyes study Philip in the rear-view mirror. “Who ya wanna talk to?” he asks, not harsh, just curious.

Philip purses his lips. “Theo’s dad. I- I’d rather he hear it from me.”

“Then go right ahead, boy.”

Taking another breath, he ignores the many frantic texts plaguing his homescreen and dials the number of the one person he knows needs to be aware of what had happened. 

The phone is picked up a moment later, a smooth voice heard over the receiver, asking what he can do for Philip. 

The boy swallows hard, clutching the phone tightly and blinking back more tears still as he catches Franklin’s reassuring gaze again in the rearview mirror. Blowing out a slow breath, he steels himself for the next words he has to say. 

_Breathe._

“Mr. Burr?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philip needs a ride, Aaron rushes to the hospital and John and Alexander are just trying to make sense of what happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! So sorry this chapter is a little later than I had planned... I think I finally figured out what’s going on with this work, so if you want the details of stuff like the posting schedule and content, check the notes at the end. 
> 
> Anyway, this chapter was beta’d yet again by Jaysong, and the next chapter will be up Monday!! Enjoy!

Philip spends about an hour in the police station.

Because of other witness accounts, Philip is very quickly dismissed as a suspect. The gun they find discarded on the ground has no fingerprints of his, the wound would have been impossible to inflict from his position of walking beside her at the time of injury, and everyone who knew Philip is positive that he wouldn’t hurt a fly. But, he is still interviewed as a witness. With Franklin at his side, the teenager answers as honestly as possible. 

He doesn't hesitate to completely and absolutely blame George Eacker. 

He will get revenge.

The questions just keep coming and coming, but about an hour after coming to the department, the cops finally conclude Philip’s questioning. Officer Franklin walks him out, the shock beginning to wear off. And suddenly, panic is flooding in to take it’s place as Philip realize that he has absolutely no way of knowing if Theo is still alive or not. 

“Boy? You got a ride home or to the hospital or wherever you need to go?” Franklin’s gruff voice snaps Philip out of his downward spiral, the teenager looking up. He nods as he realizes the question, the concept of being able to reach the hospital soon a bit of a relief towards the panic that has been plaguing him. Soon, he’ll know _something_ , which has to be better than nothing. 

“Yeah, uh, I can call one of my dads.”

The officer nods, guiding Philip to a chair and sitting the boy down. “Should I stay out here with ya?”

“If you’d like, I guess.”

Franklin’s only reaction is to sit down beside Philip and make himself comfortable, his navy uniform crinkling slightly in his relaxed position. Philip pulls out his phone with a sigh, and, upon seeing several missed calls from John Laurens, calls his father back. 

_Un, deux, trois. You’re okay._

***

It’s a typical day for John Laurens. 

Until a girl on a gurney is sped into the hospital. 

But, John is an emergency room nurse. This is what he was literally trained to do. A teenage girl on a gurney is no cause for panic. He simply straightens his scrubs and runs to help, his shoes scuffing along the tile as he jogs to reach the team working on the girl. Blue latex gloves are snapped over his hands, hair pulled back in a neat bun, expression battle-hardened.

It’s been a long shift full of blood, pain and frantic family members, but he’s almost done now. He tries to keep that somewhat in mind as he realizes just how injured this girl is, just how much a job this will be trying to save her, even as his heart sinks slightly at the looks of her. Instructions being shouted into his ear, he leaps into action in the way only an emergency room nurse can. At least, he tries to. 

Until he catches sight of the gray face of the unconscious girl. 

Then, he freezes. 

_Theo _.__

__And that's when his typical day crashes into a pile of shit._ _

__“Laurens!” someone snaps at him, voice urgent. “Get a move on!”_ _

__He doesn't move, his gaze fixed on the bloodstain across the girl’s shirt. Her long hair is fanned out across the gurney, an oxygen mask secured to her face. A nurse is holding a sweatshirt to the wound as doctors prepare her for emergency surgery, and John dully realizes that he knows that sweatshirt, that he recognizes the worn fabric past the bloodstains. He _bought_ that sweatshirt, years ago. _ _

__That sweatshirt is Philip’s._ _

__“John!”_ _

__The yelled voice breaks him out of his shock induced daze, and his gaze snaps to the intense-eyed nurse yelling at him. Her expression is frantic, pink scrubs splattered with blood as she clutches the side of the gurney._ _

__John stares at her for a moment, gaping like a fish out of water, trying to get his thoughts in order. Then, he regains his ability to speak._ _

__“I know her,” he breathes, mind numb. “She’s my son’s girlfriend.”_ _

__Immediately, the nurse’s gaze softens. She nods firmly at him. “So that was your kid,” she realizes as she breaks into a jog to keep up with the gurney. John hurries to keep up, unsure of what else to do. His heart pounds in his fingertips, swallowing hard, attempting to try and keep himself calm. “The paramedics said something about a boyfriend being questioned at the police station, so he should be here in an hour or so, and I’m sure there’s some things you’re going to need to take care of as well. Your shift’s over anyway. Go, figure out whatever you need to.”_ _

__“Are-are you sure?”_ _

__“Get out of here, Laurens.”_ _

__John shoots her a mirthless but relieved smile her way. “Thank you,” he breathes as he hurries in the direction of the waiting room, leaving the team behind to handle everything that one bullet left in it’s wake._ _

__Theo is rolled into surgery._ _

__***_ _

__John sits in the waiting room, calling Philip repeatedly in an attempt to reach the boy. His son doesn't answer, but John tries to keep his worries at bay. He’s alright, John knows he’s alright, the kid’s just being questioned. The man will receive a call in return soon. For now, though, John just camps out in the waiting room alone, not wanting to move in case anything happens with either Theo or Philip._ _

__John is still crouched over his phone, sending yet another text to Philip, when the waiting room door slams open._ _

__Silhouetted in the doorframe for a fraction of a second, the man rushes in with a flurry of movement extremely uncharacteristic to his identity. His long coat billows around him with the October wind, expression frantic and dark eyes panicked, breathless and disorganized, his phone is clutched in his hand like a lifeline as he flies across the room to the reception desk._ _

__In all his life, John had never guessed that he would ever see Aaron Burr in this extreme a state of disarray._ _

__The man clutches at the edge of the desk, looking as if there’s less than a few fragile threads holding him together. The receptionist stares at him with a clearly unamused expression, drooping eyes daring Aaron to test her, fake looking fingernails tapping slowly against the desk. But the words are flying out of the man before she can even blink. “My name is Aaron Burr my daughter was shot her name is Theodosia Burr Jr can you please tell me where I can find her or how she is-”_ _

__“Sir, you’re going to have to slow down,” the receptionist drawls, her voice holding a note of old country accent that serves as a startling contrast to Aaron’s smooth, fast tone. When he spoke, the words came so quickly they blurred together to form a string of muttering, but with the elderly receptionist each syllable was pronounced meticulously. Her glasses were attached to a pearl chain around her neck, frosted hair cut short, appearing almost bored. Aaron looks incredulous at this plain dismissal, frantic for information as he tries to take a breath and start again, and John can’t take it anymore._ _

__John isn't exactly sure when he makes the conscious decision to get up, to cross the room, to come to Aaron’s aid, but he suddenly finds himself standing beside Aaron with a comforting hand on the man’s shoulder. Perhaps it wasn't conscious decision. Perhaps it was just instinctive._ _

__“Theodosia Burr, gunshot victim,” John states calmly to the receptionist, his free hand resting on the desk. Aaron glances over at the man in faint confusion, whites of his eyes flashing and frantic breathing shallow even as he tries to dissect the reason that John is helping him, but the nurse avoids the man’s gaze and instead watches the receptionist click through files with a stubborn determination to not look away. “She was brought in about forty-five minutes ago.”_ _

__The receptionist methodically clicks through files, taking her sweet time as she looks for matches. John can practically feel Aaron ready to break under the frustration and tension beside him, and he squeezes the man’s shoulder lightly, still not meeting his eyes._ _

__Nodding, the woman looks satisfied when she finally locates the file requested. Her gaze slides up from the computer to the men before her, squinting slightly at Aaron. “Theodosia Burr, I see. You’re her father, yeah?” she asks him, nodding in satisfaction when the man holds up his driver’s license to verify. Her gaze flickers back down to the screen, consulting the computer as she continues, Aaron putting his license back into his pocket with shaking hands. The nurse’s eyes narrow as her gaze settles on a line of text on the screen. “Aha. Miss Theodosia is currently in surgery.”_ _

__“S-surgery?” Aaron stutters in repeat, hands tightening over the edge of the desk. John keeps his hand on his shoulder, a constant reminder to stay in control, but also a reassuring presence to keep the terrified father something resembling calm._ _

__The nurse nods, gaudy glasses catching the light with the movement. “Yes, surgery. Someone should be out to speak with you soon, but due to the nature of her wound, she may be in surgery for a good many hours. I wouldn’t expect to be able to see your daughter for some time now.”_ _

__John is positive that Aaron stops breathing for a moment._ _

__“Alright, thank you for your help,” the nurse says to the receptionist, already guiding Aaron away from the desk and towards a chair. The man meekly sits down where John gestures for him to, breathing shallow and staring unseeingly at the ground._ _

__Sitting down in the chair beside him, John settles himself next to Aaron. Naturally, the moment they both sit down, John’s phone begins ringing. Sending an apologetic look to Aaron, the latter pulls out the device and answers to his son._ _

__“Pip, are you okay? I heard what happened. Are you safe?”_ _

__“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I need a ride.”_ _

__John’s frown deepens, his gaze sliding to Aaron. His hazel eyes take in the man’s shaky breathing, stunned expression, disheveled clothing. The nurse immediately wants to be able to see Philip, assure that the boy’s alright, check up on how he’s doing, but as his gaze flickers over the shocked father beside him, he knows that his and Philip’s reunion will just have to wait._ _

__“Could you possibly call Pops?”_ _

__***_ _

__It’s a regular day for Alexander Hamilton, rushing around his office as an ordinary day’s work demands his attention from multiple corners of his mind. He picks up phones and glances through papers and types a few fast words on his laptop simultaneously, long used to multitasking and especially accustomed to this practice in the office._ _

__Until his personal phone begins ringing._ _

__At first, he doesn’t pick up. He just needs to get a few more words down on this document, then he can talk to John or Eliza or whoever else is trying to get a hold of him. Unfortunately, he lets it go too long. But, immediately after, it begins ringing again._ _

__Regretfully dropping the stack of papers in his hand, he reaches for the iPhone balanced precariously on top of a tower of notebooks with a somewhat annoyed sigh. It must be urgent, if the person calling isn't giving up, but he has _work_ to do, and with an unholy amount of deadlines looming just around the corner, every second counts. _ _

__But when he sees the caller ID reads “Philip Laurens-Hamilton”, work is suddenly the last thing on his mind. His son never calls him while he’s at school. Something- most likely something serious, if Philip’s gone as far to call Alexander at work- must be wrong. Alexander answers immediately, rolling his chair away from his desk as he mentally searches for any reason that his son might be calling him now of all times, a crease appearing between his eyebrows as the call goes through._ _

__“Philip? Are you alright?” he asks, skipping hellos with his voice clipped and worried as more and more terrifying situations make themselves known in his mind. His hand clenches the armrest of his chair; he’s always been prone to overthinking, and he tries to remember this even as his thoughts get away from him._ _

__When the voice is heard, it’s calculated, almost void of emotion. Shielded. “Pops?”_ _

__“Pip, I’m right here. What’s going on?”_ _

__“I need a ride.”_ _

__Alexander swallows, subconsciously attempting to dissect his son’s tone and word choice to decipher what might have happened, his gaze flickering over the carpet of his office as his mind speeds. “Philip, what happened? Are you okay?”_ _

__“Yeah, Pops, I’m fine. But can you give me a ride?”_ _

__“Where are you?”_ _

__“The police station. I was- uh, I was just released from witness questioning.”_ _

__Alexander freezes. _Police station? Witness questioning? Why?_ What did his son _witness?_ What happened to him? The man attempts to swallow his worries, but he needs the truth, and he’s beginning to reach his limit. A rough breath escaping him, Alexander runs a frustrated hand through his hair. _ _

__“What the hell happened, kid?” His voice is sharper than he had planned, the words snapped into the phone._ _

__“Theo got shot.”_ _

__The world slows for a long moment. _Theo?_ The girl’s sixteen, and most likely on school property when fired at. How did this happen? Why was Philip there? Alexander takes a breath to try and calm his thoughts, but his mind is flying. But, then, a realization hits him with enough force to stop his rushed thought process in motion, the breath freezing in his throat._ _

__Theo… oh, dear god above, Aaron…_ _

__“Pops?” Philip’s voice questions, sounding worried._ _

__Alexander realizes that he must of gone quiet. “I’m right here, son.”_ _

__“I need a ride to the hospital, Theo drove me to school today and her car’s still at the school. It’s… it’s bad.”_ _

__“Does Aaron know?”_ _

__“I’ve already called him.”_ _

__Alexander lets out a silent breath of relief that calling the father isn’t his responsibility, although there’s also a tendril of guilt considering it was put on his son to tell Aaron. He swallows again, now attempting to figure out what to do next. “Stay where you are, Pip. They’re taking Theo to Northwest General, correct?”_ _

__“Yeah,” Philip confirms the hospital, voice still shaky but more in control than Alexander would have assumed. The man has to wonder when the accident happened; it seems as if Philip has had enough time to decently wrap his mind around this._ _

__“Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’ll be right there, okay?”_ _

__“Okay.” Philip’s voice is level._ _

__“I'm going to hang up now, alright?”_ _

__“Okay,” his son agrees softly. “An officer is waiting with me now. Get here soon.”_ _

__Alexander nods, gathering what he needs to take with him from the desk as he pins the phone between his ear and shoulder. Coworkers give him odd looks as he urgently rushes around the office; he ignores them, the topic at hand more demanding of his attention at the moment. “Alright, son. I’ll hurry.” He pauses for a moment before hanging up, his hand stilling in the air as he reaches for a pen across the desk. Letting out a sigh, his tired eyes close briefly. “You’re doing great, kid.”_ _

__***_ _

__Alexander and Philip hang up as Alexander rushes through the workplace, the man grabbing what he needs and sidestepping confused coworkers as he makes a beeline for Washington’s office._ _

__Washington meets him outside the room, his expression grave with understanding. “Aaron told me what happened,” he says grimly. “He already left. Philip was there, wasn't he?”_ _

__Alexander nods, trying to take a full breath and attempting to balance a stack of binders and notebooks in his arms. “Yes,” he confirms his boss, letting out the breath as he does so. “From what I can gather, he was right there.”_ _

__“How’s he doing?” The man’s voice is concerned._ _

__Although Alexander wouldn’t normally have expected his boss to be so worried about his son, Washington is different. The man has been around the Hamiltons for all of Philip’s life, and has seen the kid grow up from a tiny thing the size of Washington’s forearm to the potential-filled teenager that walks around today. He’s been there for almost all of Philip’s childhood, and knows that the poor boy has to be struggling with this._ _

__Alexander sighs, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “I’m not sure. He’s pretty calm at the moment, but he may be acting, or putting up a front. I suppose he’s still making sense of the situation.”_ _

__Washington nods, standing tall over Alexander and his decision made immediately. “I see. Alex, go, take care of him. Take all the time you need.”_ _

__Breathing a sigh of relief, Alexander shakes Washington’s hand. His shoulder length hair falls forward into his face as he shifts the multiple notebooks and binders piled in his arms. “Thank you, sir.”_ _

__“Keep me updated.”_ _

__“Yes, sir.”_ _

__And as Alex leaves the office, John calms Aaron, and Philip waits for a ride, there’s a soft beeping heard in an eerily quiet operating room, over the crisp murmurings of surgeons and quiet clinking of medical instruments. The beeping’s erratic, yes, but there._ _

___But still right there._ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **FIC DETAILS!**
> 
>  
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>  
> 
>  **This story will update on Mondays.** On the rare occasion I miss an update, expect the next chapter on Tuesday or Wednesday at the latest. I’ll let you guys know if anything changes!
> 
>  **This fic will cover a lot.** There will be subplots, multiple perspectives, and a lot of jumping around the different perspectives and subplots. Some of the content will cover gun violence, alcoholism, past abuse, panic attacks, and a whole lot of angst. I WILL STATE ANY POSSIBLE TRIGGER WARNINGS IN THE NOTES BEFORE EACH CHAPTER!
> 
>  **This work is a safe place.** As with any of my works, this is a totally safe place. If you ever have a bad day, or need to rant or unload or let off some steam, or just need to talk, please feel free to drop a comment here, as long as you’re comfortable. If you’ve never read any of my other works, then hello, I’m Sparrow, and I will sit and chat with you guys for days being the generally chill person I am, so please always feel free to talk here, if you need it.
> 
> Okay, so now that’s done, I just wanna say that I’m really excited for this story and I hope you guys are too!! Next chapter Monday!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philip gets a call from a certain Frances Laurens-Hamilton, John comforts Aaron and Maria and Eliza have a conversation involving a man by the name of James Reynolds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! So here’s chapter three... I hope you guys are enjoying this so far. It starts out a little slow but it’ll start picking up speed soon.
> 
> Beta’d by Jaysong, next chapter Monday and enjoy!!!

Philip has long lost track of how long they’ve been in the hospital waiting room. Several hours, at least. But the minutes have bled into one long blur of numb waiting and scrolling through frantic texts from friends of Theo attempting to reach him, Philip not having the will to respond to any at the moment, and he just can’t bring himself to try and redirect his frantic thoughts any longer. Sighing, he now presses the power button of his phone and slips it into his jeans pocket, allowing his head to thud back into the tastefully painted wall.

The four of them, Alexander, John, Aaron and Philip, are sitting side by side in a row of cheap chairs in the surgery waiting room. No one’s been out to speak with them nor have they received any news on Theo’s condition. Alex has taken to attempting to do work through his phone, furiously typing in the small screen as if he could actually make up for what he was missing through a smartphone, while Aaron just sits and stares blankly and John has gone up to the reception desk more times than Philip can count to see if there’s any news on Theo. They’ve reached a quiet, wholly concerned but halfway accepting peace; yes, Theo is in surgery, and no, it doesn’t look good, but at least that means she’s still alive. Philip has to count that as a win.

Now, John returns from the desk once again, eyes tired and posture increasingly slouched after working a long shift just to be hit with this _lovely_ situation. “No news,” he reports flatly, sinking into a chair beside Alexander as his husband growls under his breath, fixing yet another typo from his faulty phone typing. 

Aaron takes a shaky breath, at this point too far gone to respond.

Philip sighs at the lack of news, chin resting on his hand and elbow balanced on the armrest of his chair. Just as he’s about to try and maybe take a nap or something, just to pass the time, his phone begins dutifully buzzing in his pocket. Slouching down in his chair, he suppresses a groan of annoyance despite the worry still making itself known in his mind. Theo’s friends have been completely spamming him ever since the shooting, desperate for news, and although he can’t blame them, he’s starting to get kind of pissed at the constant demands for updates.

After a stubborn moment of defiant rebellion, he finally gives in to the insistent buzzing, and Philip reluctantly pulls his phone from his jean pocket to glance at the screen, pulling himself back into a sitting position. But, thank god, it’s not another Anna or Jane trying to pry news out of him, and instead a much more familiar contact. _Frances._

John’s attention is also pulled to the ringing phone, the man frowning slightly at the repeated buzzing. His hair has begun falling out of it’s bun since his shift ended, and now there’s several frazzled looking strands surrounding his face, the bun itself loosening as well. “Another one of Theo’s girlfriends?” he asks dryly, also beginning to get annoyed by the constant, frantic calls. Like father, like son.

But Philip shakes his head, answering the phone in the same motion. “No, for once. Frances.”

Frown lightening in surprise, John’s eyes flicker up to Philip’s. “Frances? Did you text her?”

As Philip shakes his head again, his sister’s concerned voice is suddenly heard across the line before he can get in a hello. _“Philip? You’re not bleeding out right now, are you? Because I swear to God, if you got shot and are now dramatically dying, I’ll fly in from university and kill you myself before that bullet even gets half a chance.”_

Philip lets out a breathy laugh as her fierce rant reaches its end; leave it to Frances to make a terrifying situation into a death threat. “No, Fran. I’m not shot, I’m fine, you don’t need to fly in from across the country to brutally murder me, I promise.”

An genuinely relieved sigh is heard across the line. Apparently she actually had been worried. _“Well, that’s a relief, considering I’m essentially broke and have barely enough money for dinner let alone a plane ticket.”_ There’s rustling across the line as Frances apparently makes herself more comfortable, probably stretching out across her couch or some other piece of furniture in her apartment. _“But I heard about the shooting at Kings. Are you guys all okay? Who got hurt?”_

A moment of hesitation follows the question, Philip swallowing hard as he tries to figure out the best way to tell Frances about Theo. He’s really starting to wish he isn’t the one the had to tell everybody; this is at least the fourth person today. “Uh, Angie and dads are fine, if that’s who you’re referring to as you guys.”

_“Nice job dodging the question, I have taught you well, but the news stations are refusing to disclose the name of the student shot and I’m getting worried. Seriously, who was it? Anyone I know?”_

For a second, Philip continues to try and figure out how to say that his girlfriend was the one in surgery. But then what Frances has just said sinks in, and he freezes. “Did you say news stations?”

_“Pip, a sixteen-year-old girl was shot at a high school. The story’s everywhere.”_

Swallowing, Philip’s gaze flickers over to Alexander’s phone, still clutched in his hands. “Pops,” he says slowly, “check the news, please.”

Alexander’s gaze snaps up from the essay he’s furiously typing out with his thumbs, faint surprise at being addressed written across his features and the automatic question of _why_ upon his lips, but when he sees Philip’s grimly worried expression, he reserves to silently nodding and opening the news app on his screen.

_“Pip?”_ Frances’ voice speaks up again, beginning to flatten as he continues to dodge the question. 

“One sec, Fran.” Philip’s gaze is still fixed on Alexander’s phone, his voice distracted and somewhat irritable at Frances’ constant questions, as he watches his father rapidly click through stories in search of what both of them instinctively know has to be published everywhere. A teenage girl shot at a _school?_ News stations have to be be having a field day. And, sure enough, it’s extremely clear that the story, or what they know about the story, is _everywhere._ Philip watches in silence as Alexander opens a few of the articles and skims through them, a frown fixed on his face. 

_“Okay, now you’re scaring me,”_ Philip’s half sister continues, sounding increasingly unsettled as she reminds Philip that she’s still on the other line. _“Who was it?”_

Philip lets out an annoyed breath, still attempting to read over Alexander’s shoulder. She is just not _letting up_ and it’s really starting to piss him off. “Frances, seriously, give me a second here-“

Frances demands, her voice suddenly sharpening and a notable trace of worry flashing in her tone. 

“Theo got shot!” Philip snaps back immediately, the words spat out of him before he can realize what he’s saying. 

There’s a long moment of silence on both lines. Frances is momentarily shocked into quiet, while the four men sitting in the waiting room freeze at the plain announcement. This is probably one of the first times anyone’s bluntly said it since they all gathered at the hospital, probably one of the first times they’ve all had to hear it flat out. Probably the first time that hearing the sharp words made them true. 

Aaron gets up and leaves the room. 

After a moment of hesitant consideration, John gets to his feet and hurries after him.

Slowly blowing out a breath, Philip deflates as quickly as he ignited. His eyes shut briefly, head leaning against the wall and phone still pressed to his ear, as the words sink in and the news stories are forgotten. _Theo got shot._ Theo got _shot._ The sentence repeats in his mind over and over, a never ending mantra of pain and worry and stress. His girlfriend is fighting for her _life_ in an operating room. Mr. Burr’s only daughter isn’t guaranteed her tomorrow. _Theo could die from this._

Philip hadn’t been prepared when the the words had snapped out of him, hadn’t had a chance to steel himself before they were heard, hadn’t really thought them over until he spit them into the phone. They had caught them off guard, and now he was paying for it. 

_“Oh, Pip.”_ But, ever since they were kids, Frances has always filled in exactly what he’s missing. Now her soft, apologetic, almost fragile voice brings him back into the moment. 

He works to swallow, sighing shakily as he runs a trembling hand through his curls. “Yeah.”

_“Where are you now?”_

“Hospital. Dads and Mr. Burr are with me. Well, Pops is. Dad and Mr. Burr just left the waiting room.”

_“Man, Philip, I’m so sorry,”_ she says quietly. _“Is there anything I can do to help?”_

Just as Philip opens his mouth to tell her no, that there’s nothing that can be done now while she’s across the country, Alexander suddenly motions for this phone, his mouth a grim line of worry as he too abandons the articles. He likely heard Frances’ question.

“Uh, hold on, Pops wants to talk to you.” The sixteen-year-old obediently hands over the device, hazel eyes questioning but compliant. 

Alex sighs as he pulls the phone to his ear, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger as his eyes slide closed. “Uh, hey, sweetie, it’s Pops. We’re just hanging out at the hospital right now, there’s nothing you can do for us at the moment. But, er, just in case you talk to Angie, don’t say anything to her about Theo or the shooting, okay? She might get freaked out about it, so Dad and I are going to talk to her tonight ourselves.”

Although Philip can’t hear Frances’ response, it must be satisfactory to Alexander, because his father nods with a silent sigh of relief. “Okay, thank you, sweetheart. I’ll have Philip keep you updated. Do you want to talk to him again before we hang up?”

A moment later, Alexander is handing the phone back to Philip. There’s only silence as he raises the phone back to his ear. “Hi again.”

_“You heard Pops. Keep me updated, okay? Call if you need anything at all. Promise me you will.”_ Frances’ voice has sombered significantly, and her tone is now serious and still worried.

Philip nods, a tired breath escaping him. “I promise, Fran. Miss you.”

_“Miss you too, kid. More than you know. Take care of yourself.”_ With that, Frances hangs up, and Philip drops the now silent phone into his lap with a sigh. 

***

By the time John catches up with Aaron in the hallways snaking around the waiting room, the latter is nearing a full blown breakdown. He paces the smooth tile relentlessly, attempting to pull in a full breath and only achieving pained gasps as he does so. The only problem is that Aaron is still walking, and very rapidly, so John is left chasing after him through the hospital hallways. Feeling faintly stupid as he walks as quickly as he can without running (an awkward, bouncy not-quite-jog thing that reminds him of the gait of a determined old lady at a shoe store sale), John follows after Aaron with careful words and a rushing mind.

“Aaron,” the nurse calls, slightly out of breath from attempting to catch up, “can you please slow down? You’re going to hurt yourself or somebody else if you keep going on like this. Seriously, I’m a nurse here- you’d be surprised at how many people wipeout on these floors.”

“Go back to the waiting room, John,” Aaron quietly bites back, not bothering to turn around as his pace only quickens. His voice is hoarse.

Now John’s practically jogging, his shoe store sale gait kicking up to a Black Friday sale stride. “Actually, I can’t. You’re not supposed to be back here without a nurse; I leave, you get caught.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“Seriously, please slow down.”

“ _Leave me alone,_ John.”

Sighing heavily, John finally slows to a stop, standing in the middle of the brightly lit, sterile looking hallway as Aaron’s beige trench coat gets farther and farther away. Running a tired hand over his head, smoothing flyways back into their proper place in his bun, John tries one last time to talk reason into the other man. “Aaron, c’mon, man. You’ve got to calm down.”

That stops him in his tracks. 

Within an instant, Aaron has whirled around and stalked back to John, his expression anguished and steps fast. “ _Calm down?_ ” he hisses, getting up close and personal to John with a harsh tone but terrified eyes. John takes half a startled step back; he hadn’t been expecting for Aaron to make sure a turnaround so quickly. “ _Calm down?!_ My _only child_ and the _one thing_ that hasn’t been taken from me in this terrible world is fighting for her life in an operating room that she may never come out of, John. _Calm down_ is something I am simply incapable of at the moment.” He takes a shuddering breath, swallowing hard. “I don’t expect you to understand but you _have to try._ ”

Aaron and John’s faces are mere inches away from each other, Aaron appearing moments away from crying with his breath heaving in an attempt that doesn’t happen, while John is just quietly trying to figure out the best way to handle this.

“Why don’t we sit down?” the nurse asks softly, hazel eyes flickering over Aaron’s face in concern for the agonized father.

Without waiting for a response, John has placed a gentle hand on Aaron’s back and begun guiding him towards a pair of worn looking chairs situated against the wall, near the door to a patient’s room. Aaron falls into a chair immediately, swallowing hard in a fight for control, while John sits beside him and tries to arrange his thoughts to the best of his ability.

For a long moment, they just sit there, Aaron trying to get a hold of himself and John silently thinking over the situation. The hospital hallway is sterile and white, the bright overhead lights familiar to John yet daunting to Aaron, empty of people except for the exception of themselves.

“I’m scared too, you know,” John finally says quietly, slowly, after a period of silence, still not meeting Aaron’s gaze. “I’ve known Theo since she was a little kid, when she and Philip started to become friends and she was suddenly at our house more often than not. I’ve watched her grow up beside my own son; you’re not the only one terrified of losing her.”

Aaron just takes a shuddering breath, leaning his head against the wall behind him and working to swallow, ebony skin flushed in the harsh lighting. John takes this as a cue to continue. 

“Alex too, of course, and obviously Philip. We wouldn’t all be here if we didn’t care about her, and you. We’re all here, and we’re going to stay here throughout this entire thing, alright? I promise, we’re not gonna leave you to deal with this alone. We’re right here, and we’re going to stay just like that, okay? I’m here.”

For a long moment, there’s just silence. The men refuse to make eye contact with the other to assure this situation doesn’t get awkward, Aaron staring straight ahead with pursed lips and John gazing aimlessly at the white hospital tile, shining and clean. Neither say a word. The lawyer remaining determinedly silent and stoic as the nurse quietly panics, frantically trying to figure out if he said or did something wrong. But then Aaron quietly turns to look at John, encouraging the other man to glance up from the floor. 

It takes a moment for him to speak, looking hesitant and vulnerable. But after a moment of hesitation, he sighs shakily, eyes lowering to the floor instead of fixed on John’s gaze. “What if- what if I lose her too?” Aaron asks in a whisper, voice hoarse with suppressed tears, the words barely audible. John has never seen the man look so broken, sitting in a worn chair in an empty hospital hallway, hands shaking and posture defeated. 

John melts. “Oh, Aaron.”

Before he knows what he’s doing, John’s pulled Aaron to his shoulder in a hug and has his chin settled upon the other man’s head, an instant, automatic comfort technique he’s long picked up from years of being a dad. Surprisingly, Aaron doesn’t protest against the contact, instead leaning into John as the he sobs quietly, the worry and stress and _panic_ the poor man’s been dealing with ever since that damn phone call making an appearance all at once. John doesn’t really think about the fact that the infamously stoic Aaron Burr is currently crying into his scrubs, instead whispering meaningless, reassuring words and just allowing the poor guy to unload. 

John isn’t quite sure how long they sit there, a nurse and a lawyer in an abandoned hallway. He very quickly loses track of time. The phone in his pocket buzzes every few minutes, likely texts or calls from Philip and Alexander as they try to figure out where he and Aaron went, but John ignores them easily. They’re fine and Theo is likely to be in surgery for several hours still; he knows that Aaron is a bit more of a pressing matter at the moment. 

Neither one of them move for a good, long period of time. 

But when it’s the father of the girl in surgery, the poor guy who’s daughter was shot just this morning, the man who has simply been forced to take on far to much to handle that’s breaking apart in his arms, John just can’t find it in himself to mind.

***

“Hey, Mar?”

Eliza stands in the kitchen of the Schuyler-Lewis house, one hand resting on the table and the other clutching a letter. Her dark hair is loose and heavy down her back as her gaze flickers to the upstairs, awaiting a reply.

“Yeah?” Maria yells back a second later, voice sounding somewhat strained and faintly distracted from her place shoving furniture around the upstairs; a logical Tuesday afternoon activity.

“Can you come down here for a few minutes, please?”

The thumps and drawn out scrapings of a couch upon wood pause, Eliza still waiting in the kitchen with a thoughtful expression as she turns the letter over in her hands.

“Uh, why? Everything okay?”

“Fine, hon. A letter just came for you, if you want to skim through it, and I thought you might need a break. You’ve been up there for hours now.”

A moment later, Eliza can hear Maria’s footsteps move across the second floor, thundering down the stairs until the woman herself walks into the kitchen. Her curly hair is pulled back into a high ponytail, her red shirt sleeves rolled up to her elbows and jeans faintly dusty. Most of her day has been dedicated to rearranging the upstairs; despite the fact that the wedding was nearly a year ago and Eliza moved in long before that, they never quite had gotten around to dealing with the stuff she brought with her. So, when Maria had a day off, the obvious thing to do with her temporary freedom was to finally tackle the extra furniture stuffed into the upstairs “just for now”. 

Eliza holds out the unopened letter to her wife at Maria’s appearance, vaguely curious about the note’s contents but allowing the other woman to open it herself. “Here.”

Maria smiles in thanks, neatly ripping open the envelope as she receives it and leaning back against the kitchen table comfortably. Pulling out the letter, the message is written in a messy script on a folded, slightly crinkled piece of notebook paper. “Here we are.” The letter open in her hand, Maria begins to read with a faint smile still on her face. 

The smile disappears almost immediately as she gets farther into the words, although she disguises it well.

Although Eliza keeps a respectable distance to give the other woman at least the impression of privacy, curiosity gets the better of her, and she can’t help but question the contents as she gazes thoughtfully at the little of the words she can see. “Who’s it from? Anyone I would know?”

Her wife doesn’t answer immediately, her expression instead darkening as her brown gaze rapidly skims the words, free hand clenching around the top of a chair beside her as a crease appears between her eyebrows. But as she reaches the end, she scoffs roughly and suddenly, her formerly pleasant mood now transforming into something a bit more, well, pissed. Her gaze flickers up sharply from the note, meeting Eliza’s gaze. “James Reynolds, if you’ll believe it.”

Eliza pulls back slightly, eyebrows raising in surprise as she takes in Maria’s pinched, unhappy expression. “James Reynolds? As in your ex-husband James Reynolds? What in the world does he want?”

Setting the letter back down on the table a bit more forcefully than needed, Maria lets out a mirthless breath of a laugh, a hand rubbing wearily over he face. _The nerve of that man._ “To reconnect with Susan. As if I would ever let that happen.”

Her wife frowns slightly, the action more thoughtful than agitated as she leans back against the wood of the kitchen table. While Maria seems faintly incredulous at the very suggestion, Eliza is more on the considering side of things. She runs a hand through her hair thoughtfully, beginning to pull it into a braid as she speaks. “Well, Susan is thirteen now. And as much as we both wish he isn’t, Reynolds is her biological father. It’s been years since they’ve spoken. Maybe-“

“Absolutely not,” Maria interrupts quietly, her tone suddenly firm as her gaze flickers to Eliza. Although her eyes are gentle, knowing that her wife is just trying to help, her words are set. _No way._

“I don’t mean to push, but he does have a right to want to get know his daughter-“ Eliza continues on, oblivious to Maria’s aversion of the idea as she continues to braid. But, when her gaze flickers up to her wife, the words die in her throat at Maria’s expression. 

“Leave it, Eliza.” Maria decidedly balls up the note before dropping it in the trash can hidden within a cabinet, turning to face her wife again once the letter is disposed of. Her eyes are serious. “Trust me here. We do not want that man anywhere near our daughter, alright?”

Sighing lightly, Eliza nods, eyes soft. _Pushed her too far._ “Alright. I’m sorry.”

Also sighing, Maria crosses the kitchen towards her wife again. She dusts her hands off on her jeans as she does so, a soft, slightly apologetic smile on her face. Upon reaching Eliza, she presses a kiss to her wife’s forehead. “I know, hon. Don’t worry about it. I’m going to head back upstairs.”

Eliza nods, a sigh escaping her as Maria walks away. That conversation probably could have gone better. “Okay. Be careful.”

Just as Maria steps out of sight, Eliza’s phone begins determinedly ringing in her pocket. As she checks the buzzing device, Alex’s face lights up the screen with an incoming call. She answers it quickly, leaning back against a nearby counter, a _hello_ coming automatically. 

It’s oddly silent across the line even as Alex talks, much different than the typical background noise of the office that Eliza’s long gotten used to with Alexander’s calls. His voice, although tired and weary, still manages to be smooth and fluid as he speaks. “Hey, Liza. How are you?”

“Fine,” she says slowly, tuning in to the strange exhuastion edging Alex’s voice. Her own tone flattens as she cuts to the important stuff. “What’s going on? Something happened, didn’t it?”

For a second, there’s defiant silence, but then Alex sighs in defeat. “Yeah. Something happened.”

Eliza sharpens. “Is anyone hurt? Pip, Angie, Frances, John? _You?_ ” she demands, knowing that Alex will just skirt around the subject until she addresses it full on. “Alexander Hamilton, answer me.”

“Hey, hey, breathe,” Alex says in faint alarm. “All the Laurens-Hamiltons are intact. I just wanted to give you a quick heads up in case you saw the stories, to avoid this entire freak-out session entirely. Have you heard about Kings yet?”

“Uh, no. What happened with Kings?” Eliza asks flatly, her thoughts immediately spinning back to Angie and Philip. She had been John and Alex’s surrogate for both of them, and although she’s respectfully aware that they aren’t her kids, she still has a relationship with each. 

“There was a shooting, and it was, uh, it was Theo Burr that got shot. I’m with Pip, John and Burr in the hospital waiting room now while Theo’s in surgery. It… it doesn’t look good.”

There‘s a moment of shocked silence.

“Oh my god,” Eliza breathes, her mind slowing down at the news as her fingers clutch the phone tighter, quietly blowing out a breath of a disbelief. “Theo? Really? She’s _sixteen_.”

Another sigh. “I know. The news stations are having a ball with the story, I just wanted to let you know before you heard and started worrying. I know how you are.”

Eliza swallows hard. “And thank you for that,” she allows quietly, still struggling to accept the news. “How’s Philip? And Aaron? And Theo, of course, she’s the one that actually got shot.”

“Philip could be better, John’s with Aaron now, and the lack of news on Theo is absolutely infuriating. But, she’s in surgery right now, so that means she’s still alive. Do you want me to keep you updated on anything that happens with her? We aren’t sure when she’ll get out of surgery, but I can shoot you a text when we find anything out.”

“Please,” Eliza sighs. She’s never had much of a relationship with Theo, but she’s always liked her, ever since she and Philip became friends and Eliza met the smiling little girl that turned out to be Burr’s daughter, to Alexander’s horror. She smiles slightly despite the situation; that had been a very entertaining day, if nothing else. “Should I call Philip? Give him a distraction or something? He has to be struggling with this, the poor kid.”

Alex sighs, the breath crackling faintly across the line. There’s a rustling; he’s probably shifting position in one of those terribly uncomfortable hospital chairs. “That would be great; just redirecting his attention for a few minutes will do wonders, I think. But please don’t call Angie, we’re going to tell her later to avoid having her panic about this.”

“Of course.”

“I have to go, but I just wanted to keep you in the loop.” There’s a brief pause, and then Alex sighs again, sounding exhausted. “Thank you, Liza.”

“Of course, send my love to John and Aaron and I’ll call Philip in a few minutes. Hang in there, okay? Everything’s going to be fine.”

Hanging up the phone call, Eliza lets out a breath, still trying to wrap her mind around the fact that Theo’s shot. For a moment, she allows herself to just think it over, try and breathe for a second, letting herself figure the situation out in a way that she knows will calm her down. 

Eliza takes a breath and dials Philip’s number.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos are appreciated and comments are loved. Next chapter Monday!!!
> 
> (Also, WHAT IS THIS NEW ARCHIVE UPDATE I MISS MY CODES)  
> (EDIT: I SOMEHOW GOT MY CODES BACK HALLELUJAH)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaron talks with some doctors, we finally see Theo, John and Philip stress in the waiting room, Eliza hangs out with Susan and John and Alex have a chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! So here’s chapter 4, it kind of jumps around the multiple perspectives a lot but it was fun to write so I hope it’s fun to read!! 
> 
> ALSO: I just wanted to say real fast, if you ever have any kind of question for me, please never hesitate to ask! Of course, within reason (no _”Sparrow, what’s the meaning of life?’_ if you please) but in case you’re ever curious about something, feel free to ask! Or, if you have a question for Jaysong, my beta, relating to me or this story, drop it here too. She doesn’t do much editing/revising work with this but she is my first reader and one of my real life best friends, so she’ll probably be around. 
> 
> Alright, let’s get on with this. Beta’d by Jaysong, next chapter Monday and enjoy!!

“Family for Burr?”

Aaron’s head lifts from his hand, dark eyes snapping to the nurse standing in the doorway of the waiting room. For a moment, he doesn’t move, trying to take in the words just said as his quiet mind slowly works back up into working order. He isn’t sure what time it is exactly, but late enough that Alex left the hospital an hour or two ago to be home with Angie and that John recently attempted to force some dinner into him and a cup of coffee into his hand, late enough that Aaron has lost all concept of time and that his frantic, panicked thought process has long slowed to a silent, fearful acceptance. 

Philip stirs beside him at the nurse’s words, looking at Aaron expectantly with wide, tentatively hopeful eyes that remind him so damn much of the boy’s father, but Aaron hasn’t really been been attention and isn’t sure what the young woman standing in the front of the room is wanting. His gaze flickers from Philip to the nurse and back, blinking as he tries to remember what’s supposed to be doing, what he’s expected to be doing. 

It’s only when John hits him with a not exceptionally gentle nudge that he realizes the nurse is here to collect him; the doctors are finally going to meet with him about Theo.

Almost immediately, his tired, subdued mind snaps into action, and he gets up instantly, stiff joints protesting at the movement and he ignoring them without a second thought. He takes a breath, the thoughts that had quieted down some time ago now returning full force with startling clarity. His voice holds a slight tremor as he speaks. “I’m Theodosia Burr’s father.”

The nurse, a young thing with a pleasant smile and kind eyes, nods at his statement. Her purple scrubs are clean and neat, a clipboard tucked comfortably in her arms. “Then you can come with me.”

Swallowing, Aaron nods as well and crosses the room to reach the nurse with his mind still trying to catch up. Sending one glance over his shoulder, he finds John and Philip staring at him with those identical hazel eyes, both looking worried and concerned but cautiously hopeful. Philip flashes him a thumbs up, a grim but encouraging smile appearing briefly on his face.

Aaron follows the nurse into the hall leading from the waiting room, the door settling shut behind him.

***

“How long do you think he’ll be back there?”

“I’m not sure, Pip. I’m guessing that Theo’s out of surgery, if the doctor is wanting to speak with him, so I’d hope they’d let him see her. But, you know how reunions like this go; we might not see him again tonight.”

A brief moment of quiet. “You do think he’ll text us with any updates, though? Like how she’s doing, if she’s… if she’s going to be okay?”

“Of course he will, Pip. Aaron’s good about that kind of stuff.” 

Another moment of quiet.

“She is going to be okay.” Although the words are a question, they are said as a statement, a flat attempt at reassuring worries and a tentative concern voiced in one. 

A sigh, a long second of hesitation. “You know I can’t promise that, Philip. God, I wish I could, but I can’t, kid. I’m sorry.”

“I know.” A shaky sigh. “I guess I just figured . . . I thought it might be worth a shot to try. Sorry for asking.”

“Everything’s going to be fine, Philip. Really.”

“You can’t promise that either.”

“I know. But it was worth a shot to try.”

***

Aaron considers himself to be a decently powerful man. 

He took control of his own life very early on, fighting his way to the top in everything he did to achieve satisfaction, surging up from the status of a lonely orphan to something worth respect. He’s very well educated and extremely well read. Being a lawyer, he has the power to tilt people’s lives one way or the other depending on what side he stands on, and most of the time he’s quite good at it. He has a decent status in Washington’s firm, a name for himself in the community. Aaron does have quite a lot of power in his life. 

But he has never felt more powerless than now, standing before a hospital bed in a jail-like room with the person he loves most in the world fighting for her life right in front of him. 

He met with the doctor first, of course. A weary looking man with deep-etched lines in his face and a pair of fragile glasses perched on the end of his nose, the doctor spoke slowly and carefully about Theo’s condition, his white hair glinting in the lights of his office as he pages through bland files on the desk before him, bluntly pointing to bits of information here and there that must mean something in some context. Aaron sat and attempted to listen to the old man’s thorough explanation of what the bullet had done to his daughter’s body with rapt attention, but the only words that had any meaning in his mind were _possible complications, significant organ damage, plentiful blood loss, not out of the woods yet, her future will be clearer if she makes it through the night._

Not _when_ she makes it through the night. _If._

Once the doctor finished explaining, he gave Aaron a grim albeit sympathetic smile. His voice was rough when he spoke, hands folded on the desk before him “It’s a lot to take in, I know.”

Aaron swallowed once. The air felt suddenly very warm, the chair beneath him abruptly uncomfortable and the overhead lights offensively bright. “It is indeed.”

“I assume you’d like to see Theodosia. She’s not awake, nor will she be for some time now, but being family, you are permitted to visit.”

“Of course.”

That’s how Aaron landed himself standing in the entrance of Theo’s hospital room, frozen in the open doorway with his gaze locked on his daughter.

She’s still and unmoving in the wide hospital bed, small and silent, a heart monitor beeping softly to itself beside her. An oxygen mask is securely fixed over her mouth and nose and there’s several different bags of fluid surrounding the bed, giving or taking whatever is needed. The room is small and cramped by all the machines surrounding her, flashes of bandages cover her side and arm, and Aaron is grateful for their clean, snowy white appearance, keeping anything more concerning hidden. The air is cool and tinted with the scent of antiseptic, constant sounds of humming and beeping making themselves known in the small space. It’s sterile and unwelcoming and cold, and Aaron hates the room immediately. 

That doesn’t even begin to cover Theo.

Aaron had always known that he and Theodosia’s daughter would take after his wife, and he was far from wrong, young Theo shaping up to mirror Theodosia Sr. in nearly every way. Although every inch of her screams her mother, Aaron has always been able to see himself in her eyes. Now, she’s never looked more like her mother, still and small and silent in the hospital bed, buried under equipment with her lengthy dark hair is neatly tucked beneath her head, long arms and legs unmoving and still beneath the sheets, soft brown eyes closed and expression nonexistent, and it terrifies Aaron more than he has ever thought imaginable.

So Aaron is frozen in the doorway, the breath caught in his throat and fingers wrapped around the doorframe for stability for several moments, attempting to make sense of the situation before him.

The doctor slips past him easily, stepping into the room and allowing the man all the time he needs to be able to handle this. He begins speaking from the side of Theo’s bed anyway, explaining the different machines and equipment, what they do and why they’re needed. 

Under the quiet droning of the doctor’s voice, Aaron finally brings himself to stumble into the room. When his shaking fingers find Theo’s still hand, the skin is cold to the touch. 

At that moment, his thoughts soften like they’ve never softened before.

_Oh, sweetheart._

He sinks into a chair beside her bed, releasing a long breath he hadn’t realize he was holding. The doctor is still continuing to speak, but the words are lost on Aaron. His shock has shifted to worry, to concern, crashing over him again and again just like it had when he first found out about the shooting, just like it had when Philip called him from the back of a police car to quietly inform him that his daughter was bleeding out in an ambulance, crashing over him just like a wave over a beach, the water dragging a little more from the beach each time it comes. He takes a shaky breath, gaze flickering over Theo’s broken body and heart beating in his shaking fingertips. _My daughter._

It’s the doctor’s hand landing on his shoulder that snaps Aaron out of his thoughts, the man speaking gently about waiting and praying and _we’ll see what happens in the morning,_ his voice as if he’s speaking to a wounded animal.

With a final nod, the doctor steps out of the room and leaves Aaron and Theo alone.

Aaron and Theo are alone and Aaron has never felt more powerless.

***

It’s about an hour and a half after Aaron leaves the waiting room that John’s phone buzzes with a text, the screen lighting up on the small table beside his chair.

Reaching for the device and skimming the text, John lets out a sigh. His gaze flickering up to Philip, he finds his son staring at him with this special, innocent brand of terrified hope written across his features. John made the mistake of giving the kid a cup of coffee earlier, so now the kid isn’t only keyed up and anxious, he’s keyed up and anxious _and_ caffeinated, hazel eyes bright and wide in the harsh lighting and knee bouncing nervously. Watching his father expectantly, Philip looks ready to break with anticipation and probably something else, something heavier and a bit more important. 

“Well, how is she?” Philip asks when John doesn’t speak for a long moment. “Is Mr. Burr alright?”

John sighs again, slipping his phone back into his pocket and putting his thoughts into order. “Theo’s... alive,” he starts slowly, hating the fact that he can’t give a better status update other than and seeing the lame words’ impact as Philip’s hopeful expression falls slightly. John settles a gentle hand on his son’s knee, stilling it’s bouncing. “Aaron’s going to spend the night with her. We’re going to have to head home now that he’s with her, but we’ll come back in the morning for a little while to find out how she is, okay?”

Philip’s hope has erased itself as John continued on, but now he tries for a half-assed attempt at at least with a small smile. He brushes off John’s hand with a gentle motion, careful but firm. “Okay. It’s, uh, it’s getting late anyway.”

“It is,” John agrees, the clock on his phone reading 9:37 p.m. and the waiting room nearly empty. He sighs again, stretching in his chair for a moment before offering Philip a quirk of a small, grim smile in return. “Let’s go home, kid.”

***

Eliza’s sitting in the living room, a book sprawled across her lap, when she hears the front door creak open. It’s a moment later that soft footfalls make their way into the kitchen in a clear beeline for the fridge. 

“Hey, hon,” Eliza calls softly, closing the book and setting it on the table beside her armchair.

Susan jumps slightly in the dark, brown eyes wide as her gaze snaps to be sound of the voice. Finding it just to be Eliza, sitting under the light of a table lamp with her hands folded neatly in her lap, Susan lets out a breath and relaxes a second later, continuing her path to the fridge. “Oh, hey Mom. Didn’t see you.”

Eliza gets up from the chair gracefully, turning off her lamp in favor of flicking on the kitchen lights, illuminating Susan in all of her stage makeup and sweats glory. The teenager paws through the fridge eagerly; it’s been several hours since she’s last had access to food, and those several hours were filled with constant movement and singing. No wonder the poor kid’s starving.

“How was drama club?” Eliza asks, leaning against the counter with crossed arms. The green numbers on the microwave behind them read 10:08.

“Good,” Susan says absently, gasping excitedly when she finds a king sized Reese’s cup hidden well within the depths of the fridge. Pulling the candy out, she’s quick to swing the door closed behind her, the harsh lighting shutting off with it with it. “Kind of crazy, honestly. Dress rehearsal and everything, you know the drill.”

“It ran late,” the older woman comments, her gaze flickering over to the clock. “Did everything go okay?”

Susan nods as she strips the wrapper off of her Reese’s, sighing happily at the chocolate. “Oh yeah, everything was fine. All the kids were just being idiots, myself included, and it ran over.” She takes a bite of the candy, chewing thoughtfully. “Sorry about that. But thanks for waiting up for me, I know it’s late.” But then, suddenly, the teenager seems to realize that Eliza’s alone in the dark downstairs, her movements slowing slightly as she comes to this conclusion. Dark eyes, dramaticized with heavy eyeliner and eyeshadow from the dress rehearsal, swing towards Eliza with a question written in the brown hues. “Hey, where’s Mama?”

Eliza sighs, allowing the counter behind her to take on more of her body weight. The entire house is eerily silent in the dark of night, the only lamps being on in the kitchen, and the space feels oddly cold in the absence of the light and laughter that usually tints the air. “Mama went to bed early tonight. She wanted to stay up and see you, but she’s just got a lot on her mind, hon.”

Susan’s brow lowers slightly, brown ponytail catching the light in the exact same way Maria’s did and tilting her her head in a motion mirroring Eliza’s favorite _I know something’s up but I’m not sure what_ expression. Although Susan is Maria and Reynold’s child, born while the two were still married and only seven when the two divorced, she often acts much more a mix of her two mothers than she does of both her biological parents. “Did something happen? She’s okay, isn’t she?”

“Everything’s fine, love,” Eliza is quick to reassure, trying to make her expression rearrange from vaguely worried to comforting. Feeling faintly guilty, she pulls Susan in for a hug, sighing lightly, the girl hugging her back automatically.She settles her chin on the girl’s shoulder for a moment; the girl doesn’t seem to stop growing, and is now about Eliza’s height. “It’s just been a long day. Why don’t you run upstairs and start getting ready for bed?”

Although Susan still doesn’t look convinced, she nods in submission as Eliza pulls away. _She’s such a good kid._ “Okay, if you say so. Love you.”

“Love you too,” Eliza smiles, pressing a kiss to the girl’s forehead before she has a chance to duck away.

And as Susan spins away, humming songs from the school musical under her breath as she grabs for her bag and hops up the stairs to wash off her makeup and get asleep, Eliza can’t help but think that she just lied to her own daughter, flat out avoided telling the thirteen-year-old the truth. That she blatantly swerved around the fact Maria got a letter from James and went to bed early to avoid Eliza attempting to talk through the situation again, to avoid the decision and everything that came with it, for better or worst. 

Well, sometimes keeping the truth to yourself is simply better for everyone. 

That doesn’t mean that Eliza has to like it. 

***

It’s past ten when Philip and John finally stumble through the front door of the Laurens-Hamilton house, Philip suffering a serious caffeine crash while John’s just exhausted after enduring a stressful day stuck in a day in the waiting room on top of a full shift in the emergency room. The house is mostly dark, Angie probably already asleep and Alex likely reading in bed or something, waiting up for Philip and John to arrive home.

“Alright, I vote we just head to bed, Pip. The earlier we get asleep the we can get up and get back to the hospital, and I think we’re both exhausted,” John comments, dropping his bag on the couch as he shrugs off his coat, shivering in the cold that plagues the house at night. His voice echoes faintly in the large, silent space of the house.

Philip nods blankly, already walking towards the stairs with slow, tired steps that vary so drastically from the constant nervous energy, shown in non stop questions or comments and knees bouncing and occasionally pacing, that he managed to maintain the majority of the day. “Mmkay,” he mutters, the poor kid just wiped after everything that happened. John sighs at his exhausted kid, but can’t help but be halfway glad at his tiredness; it’ll finally allow his mind to rest. “Tell Pops goodnight for me.”

“I will, kid. Goodnight.”

“Yeah, you too.”

But then Philip stops, suddenly sharpening as he turns to face John again in the middle of climbing the stairs. Although his posture is still tired, his eyes have lit up a touch, a question written in his features. “Wait, what’s the Angie situation? Does she know about the whole Theo thing or do we need to avoid that still?” One hand rests on the stair banister, the other hangs listlessly by his side, hazel eyes reflecting the limited light.

John sighs at the question, rubbing a weary hand over his face as he stalls for an answer and leans lightly against the sofa beside him. “Uh, yeah, she knows. Pops told her earlier. But, Pip, just be careful with her, okay? You know how freaked out she gets sometimes.”

Philip nods in understanding, a sigh escaping him as he seems to relax. “Yeah, I know, and I will. Thanks.”

“Of course, kid. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Philip trudges up the stairs, and when he reaches the second floor, John can hear a door creak open as a patch of light is shown in the hallway. 

“Philip?”

“Hey, Ang.” John can hear the smile in his son’s voice, still tired but now a bit happier, soft footfalls walking into his sister’s room to say hello instead of his own. 

Since they were kids, Philip has always been extremely close with both of his sisters. Frances’ always been more of a teacher to him, a role model, in some ways. She’s five years older, and the one that taught him how to properly pick a lock, coach him on properly lying, the one to beat up the idiot eight-year-old that made the mistake of making fun of Philip for having two dads. But, even in her teaching of bad habits (that John more or less suspects was taught to her by Alex), she’s also the one to show him how to be kind, put others before himself, to care for everyone he encounters. Now they’re both older and Frances’ is off at college, Philip doesn’t idolize Frances quite as much and Frances doesn’t view Pip as a little kid as often, but they still get along well and talk on the phone frequently.

Meanwhile, Philip and Angie are only two years apart and have more a best friend relationship. Philip gives her advice on boys, she gives him advice on girls, they spend hours gossiping about crap happening at school and regularly outwit Alex and John when they get together. While they both play piano, Angie’s carried it into more of a hobby than a chore, and those two can spend _days_ holed up together with the piano, Philip writing poetry and Angie putting music behind it to create something resembling a song, which they later perform for Eliza or their dads. They’re close, really close. And because of this, John isn’t surprised when Philip slips into Angie’s room; he needs to have some time with his sister.

John, on the other hand, needs some time with his husband.

The man trudges up the stairs himself, making a beeline for the master bedroom. Knocking lightly on the door before creaking it open, John finds Alexander sitting up in bed, decked out in a college sweatshirt of John’s and pajama pants with a book propped in his lap. His hair is pulled back into a messy bun for the night, glasses perched on the end of his nose and sliding farther down as he glances up at John as his husband enters. 

“How’s Theo?” Alex asks grimly, closing his book and sitting up as John pulls the elastic out of his own hair, shaking out his curls as he walks towards his dresser. 

“Alive,” John sighs, withdrawing a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt of his own. “Aaron’s staying with her tonight. She got out of surgery alright, I think, but Aaron’s not elaborating much over text. Pip and I are going back to the hospital tomorrow morning.” 

“Poor kid,” Alex mutters. 

John glances over his shoulder at his husband, stripping off his scrubs in favor of the sweatpants. “Which kid we talking? Theo or Pip?”

“Both,” Alexander says bluntly. “Theo’s shot, but Philip was _right there_.” 

“I know,” John says quietly, turning to his hair as he finishes changing. Turning to the mirror above his dresser, he smooths his hair back into a bun and ties in off with the elastic around his wrist. “I’d like to shoot that damn George Eacker, see how he likes it.” 

Alex hesitates long enough for John to pause his movements, hands still in hair as his gaze finds Alex’s in the mirror. Hazel meets brown as Alex tentatively meets his eyes, looking regretful. “Alexander? What is it?”

“Speaking of Eacker,” he says slowly, causing John’s eyes to narrow. Dropping his hands from his hair, the other man turns around to face his husband with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Spit it out, Alex.” 

A long, drawn out sigh. “I made some calls. Tried to get some intel on the Eacker case. I’m hoping for a hand in it, if possible, so I tried to figure out what the plan of action is.”

John raises one eyebrow, knowing that his husband can’t be done yet. “And?”

“And,” Alexander elaborates, looking apologetic, “Eacker is nowhere to be found. He made a run for it after the shooting, and no one’s seen him since. We’re not sure where he is, what he’s capable of, who he’s with.” Swallowing, the man's gaze stills on his husband’s. “There’s an uncontrollable armed man on the loose somewhere in America, John. They’re starting a manhunt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment any feedback you have if you’ve got the time, and I hope you liked!! Next chapter Monday!
> 
> Happy early Halloween too for anyone celebrating!! Stay safe tomorrow, make good choices, stay alive... I’ve gotten very emotionally attached to the lot of you and if I find out anything happened I’ll be a very sad and angsty writer indeed. So keep safe y’all.
> 
> See you guys next week!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philip gets out of the hospital for a while and hangs out with Georges, Lafayette and Hercules come into the picture and Eliza and Maria have a not-quite-fight that gets a little too heated for comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya! Here’s the ridiculously long chapter 5... if you like long chapters, it’s your lucky day, cause this thing is literally over 5,700 words. Hehe, whoops.
> 
> TW for mentions of past alcoholism today.
> 
> Beta’d by Jaysong, next chapter Monday and enjoy!

“Philip, you’ve got to get out of here for a while.”

The mentioned teenager’s gaze snaps up from his phone, looking at his father in faint surprise under the glaring waiting room lighting. Angie insisted on braiding his hair before she left for school and he left for the hospital, and now his curls fall down his back in a thick plait, a few flyaway strands framing his face, his faint consternation traced across his expression at the statement. “Wait, what?”

John, sitting in the chair beside Philip, sighs and rubs a hand over the lower half of his face. They sit in the nearly empty waiting room, the exceptions being the receptionist clacking away at her computer across the room and the occasional Aaron Burr sighting, the last one being about an hour ago. They haven’t been actively speaking for a while now, so John’s blunt statement broke the silence quite suddenly. 

“Kid, you were here all day yesterday, and you’ve been sitting in the waiting room all morning now too. It isn’t healthy for you to be stuck here worrying.” Although John’s eyes hold an ounce of regret, his tone is firm. He’s obviously been thinking this over for a while. 

Philip’s expression loosens with shock, his hands going slack around his phone. “What?! No! Theo’s _just_ started to stir and move, I can’t _leave!_ ”

“Pip, listen to me here,” John says flatly, meeting his son’s gaze firmly. “Even if she wakes up, you’re still not considered family. You won’t be able to see her no matter what happens for as long as she’s in intensive care. I swear to you that I will keep you as updated as humanly possible, and I really, really get that you want to stay, but you can’t just camp out in the waiting room indefinitely while Theo’s in the ICU. Yes, she’s struggling, but she wouldn’t want you to waste a perfectly good day with your dad in a waiting room, trust me.”

“But-“

“ _No buts,_ kid. The school’s closed, so why don’t you go over G’s for a while? I’m sure he’s worried about Theo too, you can give him an update in person.”

Philip takes a breath, looking distressed at the very notion of leaving the hospital. John can’t help but feel badly for the teenager and his disarray at John’s suggestion, but the getting out of the hospital will be the best thing for him. 

“ _Dad-_ ” Philip tries, looking as if he’s bordering on panicked. His eyes are pleading.

“ _No,_ Philip,” John cuts off, regretful but firm. “Now, I can call Lafayette or Herc, or you can call Georges. The choice is yours.”

With those words, the fight seems to drain out of the teenager, allowing a short moment of silence to take it’s place. He lets out a faint sigh, puppy dog eyes of the century flickering to John with a certain note of pleading still in their hazel depths. “You’ll stay? Keep me updated?”

“Of course,” John agrees softly, instantly, keeping a careful eye on Philip’s defeated stance as his voice quiets, tone shifting from firm to comforting. “My shift starts soon anyway, and I’ll keep an eye on Aaron and Theo when I can. I’ll let you know if anything changes or if I hear anything more about her condition.”

Philip nods in submission, his gaze flickering back down to the phone still in his grip. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, sweatshirt baggy and jeans worn as he balances his elbows on his thighs, phone between his knees as he pulls up a contact. “Okay. I’ll text Georges, I’m sure he can come by and pick me up.”

“Good. Thank you.”

Philip nods again in acknowledgement, thumbs typing out a quick message to a strangely named contact with a truly terrible contact photo.

“Oh, and, Pip?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m… I’m sorry, kid.”

“Yeah. Yeah, me too.”

***

“DADS! PHILIP’S COMING OVER!” Georges’ yells are easily heard downstairs, the decisive tone leaving little to no room for objection as he shouts from his second floor bedroom. “I’M GOING TO GO AND PICK HIM UP FROM THE HOSPITAL NOW! TAKING THE CAR! THAT COOL WITH YOU?”

Lafayette glances up from his phone with a faint smile at his son’s volume, sitting in the living room and taking a few moments to check his email while taking a break from grading papers; he teaches French at the high school and although the reasons behind the day off are far from optimal, he can’t help but be thankful for the unexpected chance to get some extra work in. “THAT IS OKAY! TELL PHILIP HE IS WELCOME HERE ANY TIME!”

“HE’S BEEN OVER HERE ONCE A WEEK SINCE THIRD GRADE, I THINK HE ALREADY KNOWS BY THIS POINT!”

“THEN TELL HIM AGAIN! AND DRIVE SAFE, PLEASE!”

“I WILL!” There’s a faint pause in the yelled dialogue as Georges thunders down the stairs, the staircase on the opposite side of the house from where Lafayette sits and the exchanged words still needed to be shouted in order to be heard. “I’LL BE BACK SOON!” With that, the door leading to the garage opens and closes, the garage door itself grinding up into its open state. 

Returning to his phone, Laf chuckles lightly to himself at Georges’ methods of communication and mannerisms. Although the boy is adopted, having been fostered by Lafayette and Hercules when he was only about a year old and adopted just a few months later, Georges is so much like both of his dads that Lafayette has to regularly stop and wonder how they aren’t actually related. 

William, the other Lafayette-Mulligan child, isn’t quite as similar to his parents as Georges is, however. He’s only a year older than Georges, but was adopted when he was nine versus a toddler like his brother, and although he’s truly a good kid he’s been going through a serious rebellious phase lately and has taken to mostly avoiding his dads at all costs. That would explain why he’s currently hiding out at a friend’s house, versus spending his free day with his family. 

It doesn’t really make a difference that Will’s been absent, though. The family has been pretty scattered almost the entire day. Hercules’ been at work since this morning, so it’s just been Laf grading his papers and Georges doing… well, what ever Georges does for the past several hours.

That’s why Lafayette is faintly surprised when Herc steps through the door of the kitchen on his way to the staircase, wearing casual clothes in a stark contrast to the formal clothing he usually has to wear for his job of a fashion designer, his steps slightly more muddled than crisp and his head down.

Although Herc attempts to head upstairs without more of a nod to Laf, his husband is quick to call him back. “Wait! Why are you not at work? Did something happen?” His voice is curious with a note of concern, hair pulled back out of his face and watching his partner carefully.

Hercules shakes his head, looking distracted as his pace slows. He stops before the staircase, turning to face Laf in a slow movement. “Ah, no. I took the day off.”

Brow furrowing, Lafayette tilts his head slightly. He sits at the kitchen table, papers in need of grading spread out across the polished wood and a red pen gripped in one hand. “Where have you been, then?”

“Out.”

Immediately, Lafayette’s instincts are flaring. Herc is never this vague or cold towards him, never this quiet, never this closed off. Laf’s first thought is that his husband must be hiding something from him, as he sets the red pen down on the table with a frown.

But, almost instantly after, he tries to rationalize. Herc is a grown man, he can handle himself without notifying Laf of every action he makes or doesn’t make. Although Hercules himself is famous for mother-henning everyone within a five mile radius of him, Lafayette is a touch more respectful of boundaries and privacy, and decides to let this one slide. If something was seriously the matter, then Herc would tell him. Of course he would. 

“Okay,” Lafayette says carefully, resting his folded hands on the table before him. “But are you sure you are alright? I do not mean to pry, but you are acting strangely, Hercules.”

It takes a moment for Herc to sigh, a small, reassuring smile gracing his face as he looks towards his husband, one hand resting on the banister of the stairs. “I’m fine, Laf. I promise. I was just going to head upstairs and take a shower real fast, but I’ll come down and keep you company when I’m done, okay?”

Laf releases a breath as well, attempting a smile as he picks the pen back up. “Okay, if you are positive.”

“Everything’s fine, dear. Be right back.”

But even as Hercules climbs the stairs to their bedroom, as Lafayette returns to the terribly written French essay before him, as he tries to return to the task at hand and banish any thought of his husband keeping something from him or deliberately lying to him, Laf has to consider the subtle shake that plagued Herc’s hands, the dullness in his eyes, the stumble in his step. 

_He has not acted like this since before he was sober._

That thought makes way for a whole new fleet of concerning ideas, making Lafayette put down his pen once again and rest his head in his hands for a moment, attempting to rationalize in the privacy of the warm kitchen with nothing but the grammatically botched papers to bear witness. 

_Of course he is still sober,_ Laf tries to reassure himself, _he would not do that to himself, to us. He simply must be having an off day._

_He has to be just be having an off day._

***

“So, your dad just, like, kicked you out of the hospital?” Georges asks, a hint of laughter in his voice even as he crouches over a game controller, killing virtual zombies with a careless yet practiced precision. His dark, sleek hair is pulled into a neat bun at the back of his head, and his elbows balance on his jean clad knees.

Philip sighs out a huff of laughter as well, an identical controller clutched in his hands and the light of the tv reflected in his eyes. The actual lights in the Lafayette-Mulligan’s basement are turned off, the ratty couch before the tv and the two boys upon it casted in the comfortingly familiar blue glow. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“That’s kind of harsh,” Georges remarks, dark, slanted eyes fixed on the screen before him as he lets out a groan of frustration at a particular stubborn zombie in the video game, furiously shooting at the determined character with fast fingers. Even as he takes care of more undead, he continues on with his conversation as if nothing else is happening; a skill that both he and Philip have perfected with time and experience. “I mean, I get that John wants you to still live and everything, but it’s your _girlfriend,_ man.”

“You’re telling me,” Philip mutters, taking out his aggressions on the poor remote in his grip and gaze glued to the screen.

For a moment, Philip can’t help but be grateful for the casual, relaxed atmosphere in the basement. The past 24 hours have been beyond shitty, and being able to just play some video games with his best friend without having to worrying or talk about Theo’s condition is extremely appreciated. 

And that’s when Georges starts talking again, and Philip is instantly convinced that he just totally jinxed himself.

“So, I get that this might be a tough subject, but I’ve gotta ask- how’s Theo doing?” Georges asks carefully, porcelain skin bright in the artificial lighting. “Like, do we know anything past the fact that she made it through surgery? Also, while I’m already asking uncomfortable questions, _why the hell_ was she shot in the first place?”

Philip bites the inside of his cheek softly at the questions, hesitating as he debates his answers and inwardly curses the fact that he forgot to knock on wood while thinking about how nice it was to be drama-free for a few minutes. _Shit, shoulda been expecting this._

Georges is his best friend, and has been for a very long time, but what happened and what is still happening to Theo still isn’t the easiest thing to talk about, despite the two’s close relationship. The moment of hesitation is brief but noticeable in the silence of the dark basement, the only sounds being grunts of the avatars on screen and the echoing of virtual guns being fired as Philip just tries to consider his options for a moment.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, bro, I was just wondering if we’ve gotten any updates lately,” Georges says, sounding faintly apologetic yet more awkward than anything else. “I probably ask too many questions, and I’m sorry about that, I didn’t mean to overwhelm you if I did.” Although Georges’ expression stays locked on the tv, not wanting to make the situation awkward, the concern is written in his expression, obviously trying to be reassuring while not making the situation more uncomfortable than it already is. Georges has always been good about that; being comforting and present without being overbearing and suffocating.

Maybe John did know what he was doing, sending Philip to Georges in this time of distress. 

“No, no, it’s okay,” Philip sighs, bracing himself in the harsh light of the screen before him. “No, we don’t know anything past the surgery thing, except that she’s starting to wake up, a little. But when I say wake up, I mean she’s barely awake for a minute before going back under, and is never fully lucid, from what Burr tells us.” Philip’s still firing away at villains on screen, but his intense concentration has faded, instead redirected to the conversation at hand. “My dad promised to keep me updated, but I just don’t think anything’s for sure yet. And for the why she was shot thing, I don’t even know. Eacker’s just an ass, I think, considering Theo was turning him down for the four millionth time when he fired.”

“So, basically, we have next to no idea if Theo’s going to be okay or not.”

“Exactly.”

Georges nods, the motion just visible in Philip’s peripheral vision. “You’re really stressing about this, aren’t you.” The words are not a question. 

Philip pursed his lips, sighing faintly at Georges’ near effortless ability to see exactly what‘s going on in his brain at literally all times. “Yeah, a little.”

“I know.”

Another thing that Georges has always been good at; unconsciously making Philip open up and spill his guts without Philip’s consent. And suddenly, the other teenager is talking before he even knows what he’s saying, rambling on with a vengeance that he had to have picked up from Alexander about the same time he began talking. 

“It’s just- Theo’s _sixteen,_ G. She’s _sixteen_ and her entire damn life is right there in front of her and it could all be gone within half a second and I can’t do a damn thing about it. I was right there when Eacker shot, I saw the blood and I watched the life nearly drain out of her, I saw it _all._ I’m _scared,_ Georges. If she can’t get through this, if the bullet is just too much for her, if she dies, _if I lose her,_ oh my god, G, _I don’t know what I’ll do._ ” 

Philip takes a ragged breath as he falls silent, attempting to get a hold of himself and blinking back the tears pricking at his vision with a strong sense of horror. He’s not entirely sure where that came from, or how the emotional confession had spilled from him with such careless yet rushed precision, as if he’s been thinking the words over and over subconsciously for the past 24 hours. 

“Alright, I’m pausing this.”

Before Philip can get a word in, Georges has paused the video game and turned to face him on the worn couch, dark eyes expectant yet gentle and expression prompting. The artificial light from the tv still washes over them, casting off shadows and throwing everything in a blue glow, but it’s familiar and oddly comforting as Philip shifts on the old sofa, the ratty material well known and nearly memorized beneath him.

Georges’ expression is gentle as he speaks, hands folded in his lap. “Listen, Philip. You know me. I try to help whenever I can, but this… this is out of my element. I don’t know how to handle this one, Pip.”

Philip sighs at the nickname; Georges is the only one besides his family (Eliza included) and Theo that can get away with it. “G, it’s not your responsibility to take care of this, okay?” he starts, uncomfortable and awkward. ”I just needed to rant a little, I guess. I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make this all awkward. I don’t really even know where all that came from, if I’m being honest.” 

He rubs a hand over the back of his neck in embarrassment, still finding himself wishing the Theo situation had never been brought up in the first place, wishing they had both just avoided the topic and that he had simply enjoyed some time with his best friend instead of taking a perfectly relaxed afternoon and turning it into a painfully awkward chick flick moment.

“I’m not done,” Georges continues on his previous statement suddenly, gaze intense and voice firm. His hand rests on Philip’s knee; just enough physical contact to be comforting without being weird, grounding Philip with careful connection. “I don’t know how to handle this one by myself, but I think I might now how to help you.” He pauses a for a second, looking as if he’s thinking over his words as he says them, hesitant but barging in anyway. “And now, please don’t get all freaked out when I say this, but I have a suggestion that you can totally turn down but you may want to consider.” Although Georges doesn’t look uncomfortable (he never really looks uncomfortable, now that Philip thinks about it) his tone is tentative, his eyes cautious. “You up for it?”

Philip’s brow furrows in perplexion, the embarrassment at spilling his guts to the other teenager abruptly shifting to a general lack of understanding, confused and a bit worried by the vague way Georges is speaking. “Okay…?” he says slowly, one eyebrow raising slightly in expectancy.

“Would you want to come to church with me?”

_Oh._

Philip has known for a long time that Georges goes to a church, a nondenominational Christian type one. Why, exactly, he’s never understood, but Georges just seemed to migrate to faith ever since he was a kid, even though his dads aren’t religious themselves. And, of course, Philip’s had never had any kind of problem with Georges’ beliefs, but this was just a little… different.

“Uh, you are aware that I have two dads, G.”

“Believe it or not, I am.”

“And, news flash, you do too.”

Georges sighs, a look of annoyance flickering over his face even in the somber mood of the conversation. Philip gets the feeling that he’s explained this multiple times before. “Pip, come on, man. Do you really think I would attend a homophobic church? These guys are totally cool with any sort of sexuality, I mean, even my dads come to a service every once in a while. You’ll be safe there, if you decide to come.”

Philip hesitates again, wondering how to respectfully phrase this. “Uh-“

“If you don’t want to come, Philip, you don’t have to. I won’t get offended or anything, I just wanted to ask in case that would make you feel better. It’s… it’s kind of nice, I guess, to think that someone’s got everything under control somewhere out there, and I was just thinking that it might help.”

Philip bites the corner of his lip, a nervous hand sweeping over his hair. “Well, Georges-“

“Okay, I don’t mean to interrupt again, but I’ve known you for a very long time, Philip, and I know that expression and what it means. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. _You don’t have to come if you don’t want to._ I promise, you don’t have to make that _how-do-I-say-no-without-offending-him_ face and struggle to tell me you don’t want to come. I get it, I really do.”

Damn, Georges is good. 

“Yeah, okay, you got me,” Philip sighs, looking apologetic. “Thank you for the offer, but church… it’s really just not my scene. I’m gonna have to decline.”

“And that’s perfectly fine by me,” Georges is fast to reassure, looking totally unperturbed but satisfied that he’s at least asked. “Just thought I’d throw it out to you.”

“And thank you for that,” Philip says sincerely, face warming slightly with a blush. “I, uh, I appreciate it.”

“One more thing, though,” Georges continues, his voice casual and posture relaxed. “We have this thing where people pray for other people who are having a rough time or are hurt or sick and stuff like that… do you want me to mention you guys? Like Theo with the shooting, and you with the aftermath, and Burr with everything that’s coming with it? Would you be cool with that?”

Well.

Philip hesitates for another long moment, thinking it over and mentally trying to figure out how he wants to respond. Georges waits patiently, allowing Philip all the time he needs, looking perfectly comfortable and not at all disturbed by Philip’s responses and hesitation. Georges is really good about that too. He’s patient and very calm, rarely getting worked up about pretty much anything, and Philip is glad for this as well in the situation he’s finding himself in. 

It’s a few moments before Philip reaches a conclusion, releasing a breath as he lightly tugs on the braid still in his hair with one hand. Meeting Georges’ gaze with hesitant eyes, he offers a shaky smile. _There’s no harm in saying yes, is there? Who knows if it’ll work, but it’s worth a shot. It can… it can only do good._

“Uh, yeah. I think I’d be cool with that.”

***

Maria loves Eliza. 

She really does.

Eliza swept into her life at the exact perfect moment, bringing comfort and laughter and a sense of home to both Susan and Maria all in a single dramatic entrance, taking the child and struggling, single mother and making them her own. She’s everything that Maria isn’t, the two of them puzzle pieces that fit together flawlessly, a gorgeous duet of fire and water that simply _work_.

So Maria loves Eliza. 

But Eliza is truly, truly terrible at knowing when to stop pushing when she’s convinced her view is the right one.

And that, Maria doesn’t love quite as much. 

“So, I was thinking, and I know that you don’t want Susan and James to reconnect but what if they just had weekly phone calls or something?” Eliza suggests proactively, trailing after Maria as her wife gathers the spices and seasonings needed for dinner. “It’s not as if James has access to her in real life, but it allows Susan to get to know her father-“

“Eliza,” Maria interrupts gently, not turning around as she continues to collect ingredients. However, her wife doesn’t get the hint, and continues as if she hasn’t heard Maria at all.

“-and James to get to know his daughter-“

“ _Eliza._ ”

“-and then you can even supervise the calls if you’d like so that you know exactly what’s being discussed-“

“ _Eliza!_ ”

The harshly said word stops Eliza in her tracks, the woman wincing at Maria’s sharp voice even as she stops talking herself. She’s been tagging after Maria for the past ten minutes, talking about her day or what people did and didn’t do at work or basically everything else under the sun, as she usually does every day when Maria gets home. Maria, on the other hand, has been listening to Eliza as she prepares dinner, occasionally commenting or making a face or laughing at the stories Eliza is telling. But then Eliza brought up the Reynolds matter, and Maria isn’t quite as content. 

Taking a breath, the woman in red turns away from the pan on the stove, facing her wife. Their kitchen is well lit and homey, Susan upstairs with music blasting and a candle lit on the counter, the entire scene domestic and sweet but suddenly turning a bit more on the conflicted side with the change of conversation. Maria smooths her shirt as she arranges her thoughts; Eliza’s just trying to help. _Just trying to help._

“Honey, can we please just not talk about this?” Maria asks hopefully, voice gentle. “I’ve already made my decision, that Susan is not going to reconnect with Reynolds, and I’d appreciate it if we just dropped the subject, please.”

“I know, Mar,” Eliza sighs, but the fight is still lit in her eyes. “I know. _But,_ I still think that we’ve ought to give James a chance. Allow him to redeem himself if that’s what-“

“Eliza,” Maria groans, the frustration becoming evident in her tone. “I thought we just went over this.”

“Maria-“

“Hon, seriously, can we drop this?”

Eliza crosses her arms over her chest in a subtly defiant gesture, one eyebrow quirking in a suggestion of challenge that would usually make Maria laugh but now just fuels her frustration. “Can you give me a reason? I don’t mean to provoke you, but I would like an explanation, Maria.”

For a moment, Maria stares in a moment of disbelief, but nope, Eliza’s serious. “An explanation? Past the fact that I don’t want my daughter to reconnect with the ex-husband I left for the sole purpose of assuring that Susan would grow up without him anywhere near her?”

“Maria, I don’t want to fight. But please, just tell me what you’re thinking. Why don’t you want Susan to reconnect with James? What’s the reason?”

“First of all, please don’t refer to my ex-husband as James,” Maria starts slowly, voice careful but eyes increasingly fierce. “Giving him a first name makes him human, which Reynolds is far from.”

“Is that all-“

“I’m not done,” Maria continues, expression cautioning Eliza to stop there, to allow her to continue. “Second, I just don’t want Susan and Reynolds to communicate at all. She doesn’t need him in her life; she’s got two great moms to take care of her, bringing in her father will just open up a whole new door of drama and disappointment.”

“And third, Eliza, love, _my views are not going to change._ I know that you think Susan deserves to have a relationship with her dad, but you have never met Reynolds and I hope to God that you never will. This just isn’t going to happen, sweetheart.”

Another thing that Maria usually loves about Eliza; she has a sweet yet fighting spirit that tends to show itself at the most inconveniently amusing times. Like when Alex made an offhand, faintly sexist comment that one time and Eliza had practically tackled him in the middle of a dinner party, ranting about feminism and gender equality a bit too loudly to be considered proper, and Maria nearly snorted her wine through her nose in her attempts to not start laughing. Or the time Philip mentioned a kid that was hassling him when he was in seventh grade, and Eliza nearly prepared a manhunt for the sneering twelve-year-old before Maria had a chance to talk her down off the ledge. Eliza’s one of the kindest, most trusting people that Maria knows, but the woman can become extremely feisty when the situation calls for it.

Here’s another occasion that Maria isn’t loving that particular quality quite as much as she usually does. 

“And I get that you feel very strongly about this,” Eliza continues, that fighting spirit shining through with a vengeance as she stands defiantly apart from her wife in the quiet kitchen, “but I feel very strongly about this too. And I feel that Susan needs a relationship with a father figure, a man that she can look up to-“

“Oh honey, Reynolds is not a man that she can look up to, I can promise you that-“ Maria interrupts vehemently, but Eliza’s continued on already anyway. 

“-and that she can have as her ally and backup when she’s mad at the both of us as she grows up-“ Eliza continues, and then Maria interrupts again, both women getting increasingly animated and loud as the conversation progresses. 

“-as if we want Reynolds to be her backup when she’s upset with us-“

“-I’m _sorry_ Maria but Susan _needs_ that relationship-“

“-I agree but _my_ question is why she can’t have that relationship with Alex or John or Laf or Herc or one of our other close male friends that we trust nd know are good men-“

“-it’s different when it’s your father, Maria-“

“-instead of opening up all these problems with Reynolds-“

“-I just know that my dad and I had a relationship that I wouldn’t have traded for the world-“

“-Eliza, she has two moms, don’t you think that’s _enough-_ ”

“-of course, but we are not her father-“

“-honestly, I’m beginning to become very irritated with this conversation and I would very much appreciate if you would just _respect my decision-_ ”

“-Maria, I’m sorry, but I’ve been raising Susan alongside you since she was all of eight years old and I simply believe that she deserves to know her father-“

“ _Back off, Eliza!_

The words are snarled, a short, sharp interjection that brings the conversation to a screeching halt. 

A long moment of silence follows.

The two women stand facing each other just beside the stove, standing in defensive positions and the conversation having gone very quickly from a small disagreement to something a bit too close for comfort to a fight. The pan on the stove is forgotten behind them, the kitchen eerily quiet in the absence of snapped words, the only sounds being quiet breathing and the far off noise of Susan banging around upstairs, probably dancing or rearranging her furniture in her room or doing some equally illogical activity that probably makes sense to her in some way. But for the two women, they’re the only two in the world, their actions and words the only things that matter at this moment. 

Maria’s eyes blaze, daring Eliza to say more, to question her decision past what she already has. This entire thing will likely blow over, their petty little arguments always do, but Maria knows that this one might take a little longer than others. They’ve been together for five years, but a conflict like this has rarely gotten to this extent, yelling at each other with a fierce vengeance and reaching such a point of disagreement that the one won’t even consider the other’s point of view on the issue. 

Yes, this will blow over. But not… not right now.

Eliza stares at Maria in a mix of shock and hurt, a trace of regret and guilt mixed in with the canvas of emotions written across her face. She draws back slightly, hand settling on the cool granite of the countertop, lips pressed closed in submission, or perhaps apology. But then her gaze fixes on something past Maria, and her mouth opens slightly as her expression goes slack, just in time for the fire alarms to begin shrieking.

The near silent, eerily still kitchen explodes in sound and movement, Maria whirling to find the forgotten pan, still sitting on the stove top, smoking and threatening to ignite into flames at any moment. Eliza is frozen a few feet away as Maria swears, her mind racing to keep up with the situation. “ _Dammit!_ ”

In one motion, Maria grabs for an oven mit and yanks the pan from off the burner, distributing it in the sink instead with a crashing drop. Turning on the water with a jerk, the beginning flame is doused immediately by the stream of cool liquid. Eliza and Maria are left gasping and watching the smoke float around the kitchen, the alarm still wailing, minds floundering to catch up with everything that’s just happened.

“Moms?” Susan calls from upstairs, the question in her voice. Noise cancelling headphones can only cancel so much, after all, and the fact that the fire alarm’s shrieks can still be heard probably isn’t helping. 

Eliza is the first to click in, grabbing a dish towel in an attempt to dissipate the smoke from the space. “Everything’s fine, love!” she calls back over the screams of the alarm, the tremble in her voice an undertone that was likely missed by the girl.

Maria takes half a step back, trying to get in a full breath and bring her mind back into the moment, back out of the argument, back out of the memories hitting her rapid fire and out of the thoughts plaguing her mind that she knows won’t be leaving any time soon. She just needs _out_. “I’m going to go order a pizza,” she mutters to Eliza, her voice vaguely distracted as she slides her phone off the counter and leaves the room.

Eliza is left standing in the smoky kitchen clutching a damp dish towel in her grip, the water still rushing over the smoking pot in the sink as the fire alarm screeches in the background, watching her wife nearly dart from the space and wondering what, exactly, just happened.

_Why must everything be so complicated?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you finished the ridiculously long Chapter 5! Kudos to you, my friend! 
> 
> Alright, kudos make me smile and comments make my day, so tell me what you think of this chapter and/or the story so far if you’ve got the time! If not, just smile and go on with your day and I’ll be perfectly happy with that too ;)
> 
> Next chapter up Monday, and I hope you guys have a really great week!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theo finally wakes up, Philip gets a phone call, Eliza figures out some stuff and John totally caves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! So, we have chapter 6 today... it’s a little more lighthearted (after the first few paragraphs, bear with me, I promise it gets better) than the past few chapters so enjoy it. I’ll explain a few things more about the chapter in the end notes, so go check those out if you’re curious!
> 
> Today’s Warnings: Mentions of past abuse.
> 
> Beta’d by Jaysong, as literally always, and next chapter Monday! Enjoy!!

Aaron is right beside her when Theo comes back to consciousness. 

At first, he doesn’t get too excited, looking up from his phone with a sense of calculated hope as his daughter shifts in the sheets, the beeping of the heart monitor filling the silence. This has happened several times in the past few hours, when Theo moves or attempts to move and occasionally releases a few slurred words before going back under. He’s heard a range of things today, _Mom, Philip, Dad, Georges, Mattie,_ but nothing particularly concerning nor important, and she usually goes still again soon after any of the words are mentioned.

So, as Aaron sits in the terribly padded hospital chair with a flatly expectant expression written across his features and his phone still loosely held in one hand, he doesn’t get overly worked up. Theo will likely just stop moving in another minute or so and go back to her terrifying yet peaceful comatose state, and then Aaron can just return to responding to meaningless emails on his phone while waiting with a sense of resigned calm.

But then Theo’s dazed eyes crack open, wincing as her feeble movements pull at her stitches and injuries, releasing a shaky breath of vague confusion, and Aaron’s phone hits the floor with a dull thud. 

“Theo? Honey, can you hear me?”

 _No sudden movements, soft voice, calm exterior._ Aaron attempts to remind himself of the things the doctors encouraged him to practice to avoid scaring the girl when she woke up, but seeing Theo at least vaguely aware is more than he’s been granted for the past day and a half, and his excitement is suddenly bubbling to the surface with more passion and hope than he knows what to do with. He can’t help but get worked up, get hopeful, as his trembling hand hovers near the bed, expression determinedly comforting yet with a note of fragile expectancy as he sits on the very edge of his chair. 

Theo’s gaze flickers over to Aaron, looking confused and fatigued with a haze of pain that makes Aaron hurt but with a faint sense of calm as well at the appearance of her father. “Dad?” she whispers hoarsely. With that the stress melts out of Aaron instantly, replaced with a sense of weak relief so strong it crashes over him like a wave, his hands taking on a pronounced shake as the breath sweeps out of him in an unbelievably alleviated sigh.

Aaron can’t help the weak, nearly giddy chuckle that escapes him, taking Theo’s hand in both of his own as he offers a shaky smile to his daughter, eyes shining with a suspicious glint that suggests the presence of tears. His gaze settles upon his daughter’s, brown meeting identical brown in the quiet of the hospital room. “Hello, darling.”

The girl works to swallow, breaking eye contact with Aaron to glance around the room, clearly trying to figure out what’s going on and what’s happened since she’s last been aware. After a moment of attempting to get her bearings, her gaze slides back to her father’s with clear questions written in her expression. “What-“

“Shh, sweetheart, don’t speak,” Aaron shushes, squeezing her hand lightly. “Save your strength. Everything’s okay.”

Although Theo stops trying to speak, she settles back against the thin pillow with obvious discontentment, her mouth set in a firm line of _explain_ and her brow lowered expectantly. Aaron sighs; he can’t say no to her, but this is going to be difficult to describe in the least. And even though he isn’t looking forward to explaining the events of the past few days, he still has a strong yet weakening sense of relief flooding through him with Theo being aware for the first time since the shooting. 

_Here goes._

“Honey, you were shot Tuesday morning, yesterday. It’s Wednesday night now. You’ve been unconscious for over 36 hours, sweetheart.”

If this is a surprise to Theo, it doesn’t show. She merely nods, and although for a moment Aaron is confused at how easily she accepts this, it soon occurs to him just how observant and intelligent she is. Of course she accepts it, the explanation does make sense, Aaron supposes. 

Aaron takes a breath, shifting on the cheap chair and keeping Theo’s hand firmly between his own. She watches him carefully, no doubt analyzing the tension in Aaron’s shoulders, the tremble in his hands, the redness rimming his eyes, with a small frown creasing her forehead, and Aaron is sure that she’s figuring out why, what and how to help even as he continues speaking. 

There are times that Theo is so much like her mother that it’s nearly unsettling. This is one of those times, Aaron quietly notes. 

“George Eacker shot you before school started yesterday. Philip was with you at the time. The bullet entered just above your right hip, then went through you completely before lodging in your left arm. You were rushed to Northwest General, where you are now, for emergency surgery.” Aaron pauses to recollect himself, keeping his voice cool and informational and refusing to let emotion leak in, avoiding Theo’s gaze. “Philip and John have stayed with me since the shooting, one or both of them always somewhere near me at all times. They’re both good men, Theo. They’ve both… they have been wonderful. Alexander has been helping out too, of course, but John and Philip I’ll be forever indebted to.”

Aaron sighs again, his elbows balanced on his knees and head bowed. His eyes close briefly; now is where he stops. There’s nothing more to tell.

“I’m sorry.”

At the short words, Aaron’s gaze snaps back up to his daughter and the apology written across her features. Her head is turned towards her father, biting her lower lip softly, unmoving between the thin, papery hospital sheets. She’s surrounded by machinery and equipment and cold metal and sterile white, her ebony skin and black hair the few dark things in the startlingly pale room. 

Aaron can’t help but think about Theodosia, the same way she always seemed to contrast so sharply with the terrible white of hospitals, the same way she always smiled through the pain and would spend hours talking with Aaron or Theo from the perch of a hospital bed, the same way she always fought and took in anything and everything surrounding her. 

Now, his gaze flickers over his daughter’s face, and although he can see his wife in the girl more than he ever has before this entire situation, he’s more focused on the words that just escaped her, the apologetic furrow of her brow, the sorry thoughts written in her expression even as the fatigue in her eyes increases, the lull of medication calling her back under. 

“Darling, don’t-“ he tries, immediately soothing even if he isn’t entirely sure what she’s apologizing for, but she cuts him off before he has a chance to ask. 

“I terrified you with everything, I know I did. So I’m sorry.”

Aaron’s eyes darken as hers begin drifting shut, her energy nearly spent even as he draws closer to her, frantic thoughts of assuring she isn’t blaming herself sprinting through his mind. 

“Theo, no, honey, please,” he says hurriedly, stumbling over his words as she begins to lose consciousness once again. “Sweetheart, don’t blame yourself, please. It’s not your fault, none of this is your fault, none of this-“ Aaron cuts himself off with a ragged breath, the soft, quiet atmosphere suddenly taking on a frantic note to get in everything he needs to say before she goes back under. He won’t let himself consider what will happen if this is the last time he’ll see her conscious, but he does know that it will be a while before she’s conscious again even if it isn’t. He needs to get everything in _now._

Finally, he lets out a shaky sigh, gaze flickering over his daughter’s face as he squeezes her hand lightly, swallowing hard. “I love you, sweetheart,” he breathes weakly, fiercely believing that Theo just ran out of energy and will be waking up again soon and refusing to consider the alternative. 

Just as Theo’s eyes slide shut, she lets out a soft breath of her own, words slurred but decipherable. 

“I love you too.”

***

Philip’s a bit more on the stealthy side than people tend to give him credit for. 

Seriously, though, he managed to leave the house, catch a bus, and get to the hospital before 9 am on Thursday morning without anyone even finding out. That took serious skill, getting past John’s constant gaze and Angie’s tattle-tale tendencies and Alexander’s careless observance.

Stealthy, and pretty damn proud of it. 

So, as he sits in the empty waiting room he’s become quite acquainted with lately and waits for more updates from Aaron, encouraged all over again by the fact Theo woke up for a few minutes last night, he’s feeling pretty cocky with himself. 

So, when his phone begins ringing loudly and determinedly in his grip, he almost has a heart attack. 

His first thought, frantic and regretful, is that John found him gone and is now furiously tracking him down, but then it registers that the caller ID states that that, no, it isn’t his likely-soon-to-be-livid father. Instead, it’s a less worrying contact. Taking a breath after the episode of cardiac arrest the ringtone very nearly brought on, Philip accepts the call. He slouches in the chair he’s pretty much claimed as his own by this point, staring at the wall as he brings the phone to his ear. “Hel-“

“PHILIP LAURENS-HAMILTON I AM GOING TO FRICK FRACKING KILL YOU!”

Philip is beginning to wish it had been John after all.

“THEO WAS HURT TWO DAYS AGO, _TWO DAYS AGO_ THAT MY BEST FRIEND WAS SHOT, AND YOU DON’T _CALL ME?!_ I NEED _DETAILS,_ PHILIP! WHERE IS SHE?! WHAT HAPPENED?! IS SHE OKAY?! COME ON, ANSWERS, KID! GET YOUR ASS IN GEAR, WOULD YOU?!”

“Nice to talk to you too, Mattie.”

Martha Jefferson, or Mattie Jefferson, as she is typically called, is a force of nature, which Philip has known for a very long time. He just wasn’t prepared for this one, he’s got to admit, but now he realizes that he probably should have been. 

“NICE TO TALK TO YOU?! WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL, PHILIP?! TALK TO ME! TELL ME WHAT’S GOING ON! I’VE BEEN DYING OVER HERE FOR THE PAST TWO DAYS, COME ON!” Although Mattie’s never been known for her tact, that was a little rough even for her, and she pauses for a second to backtrack. “OKAY, BAD CHOICE OF WORDS. BUT SERIOUSLY, COME ON, PHILIP! TALK!”

While Philip has had Georges for a best friend since they were kids, Theo has forever had Mattie. And because their parents are all involved in the strangest of ways (met in college, friends since high school, junior year enemies, best friends in third grade, had a fling in freshman year of Princeton, the list went on and on in an insane collection of embarrassing stories and strange occurrences that have been used as bedtime stories and tales of experience for as long as Philip can remember), the four of them have grown up together in a close knit yet odd arrangement of personalities and spirits. Susan occasionally makes an appearance with them along with the older teenagers, being part of the Junior Hamilsquad as well, as John once so hilariously dubbed the kids a few years ago. 

Philip could consider Mattie one of his best friends as well, he supposes, but really, Mattie’s more like an ever present and ever annoying younger sister to him that he somehow can’t imagine his life without despite everything else. They have a love/hate relationship.

But yeah, he guesses he kind of screwed up with this one, forgetting to call Mattie and update her on everything that’s been going on. Mistake on his part. 

And, as Mattie’s cursing goes from ‘frick fracking’ to something a bit stronger, Philip _knows_ that he really screwed up with this one.

“Mattie, seriously, calm down,” he hisses into the phone, the girl still ranting across the line. “If you shut up, I’ll explain everything, got it?”

That quiets her down almost immediately, but the silence is still, somehow, exceptionally satisfied. 

“Okay, what do you want to know? I’m not really sure where to start.”

Mattie’s now lowered to a bearable volume, and although her tone is dripping with self-satisfaction that she managed to get Philip to cave in just a few minutes, the drop in volume allows Philip to hear the undercurrent of concern tinting her voice. “What happened, where she is, how she is.”

Philip nods, holding the phone to his ear with his left hand as he uncomfortably combs his right through his mass of curls, loose and fluffy today. “Okay. What happened… well, George Eacker shot her before school started Tuesday morning. The bullet went right through her, ending with two wounds and a shit ton of blood loss. The nurse helped keep her somewhat stable until the ambulance got there, then she was whisked off to Northwest while I got taken in for questioning. Once I was released, my dads and Mr. Burr met me in the waiting room, and we stayed there the entire day. Burr was able to see her Tuesday night, and he’s been with her since.”

“Holy shit, Philip.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself. Anyway, she’s at Northwest General now. I’m here too, but I’m stuck in the waiting room until Theo gets out of the PICU. Some kind of family only rule, apparently.” Philip lets out an irritable breath. “It’s really pissing me off, honestly, but they refuse to let me back there. So, I’m just waiting out here in the waiting room in the meantime.”

“If you can't see her, then why are you there?” 

Well, at least Mattie’s blunt. 

Philip sighs, moving his hand from his hair to the back of his neck in a half frustrated, half embarrassed movement. “I just- I want to be here. I don’t care if I’m not able to see her, I’ll be right here if anything happens or if they need me or if Burr needs anything, so it works out.”

“Philip-“

“I don’t expect you to understand, Mattie, but just let me have this, alright?” he says, his voice oddly defensive.

An unamused sigh can be heard across the line, so familiar by this point that Philip can likely pinpoint the girl’s exact thoughts running through her mind at this exact moment. “Philip, seriously, let me talk. I wasn’t gonna talk about that. I was just going to ask how Theo is, and you, by extension. You sound really flipping tired, dude.”

“Do I?” Philip asks flatly. “Gee, Matt, thanks for the compliment.”

“Oh, come on, you know what I mean. Seriously, are you okay? I heard you were next to her when she was hit; that had to be rough.”

“I guess so,” Philip allows. “Loud noises have kinda been scaring me the past couple days, and I’m worried about her, of course, but I’m okay, really. Theo, on the other hand…” he trails off, allowing Mattie to put the pieces together herself. 

After a long moment of quiet, Mattie’s voice is uncharacteristically quiet when she speaks. “That bad, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Shit,” Mattie breathes. 

“My thoughts exactly.”

For a long pause, the only sounds are quiet breathing on both ends of the line. Philip is past the point of having the topic affect him too heavily, but having Mattie hear it for the first time hits a bit harder than he’s prepared for. Meanwhile, the girl is just trying to wrap her mind around the information just given to her, quietly absorbing. 

“You doing alright over there?” Philip finally asks, breaking the silence after several minutes. “I know how much this sucks, but you wanted to know.”

“I’m fine,” Mattie confirms, the humor drained out of her tone, and Philip can only imagine her expression at this point. “I just didn’t realize that it was… I thought it…” she breaks off, sounding frustrated and confused and upset all at once.

“You didn’t realize that Theo might die from this?” Philip offers when she doesn’t continue, voice suddenly gentle.

“That’s one way to put it.”

Leaning back in the chair, Philip stares at the ceiling as he sighs. “I get you. Kind of a lot to take in.”

Mattie sighs too, the sound disbelieving. “I’ll say.”

It’s another moment before Mattie speaks up again, and her voice now holds a note of her old fire, which makes Philip a touch more comfortable. “Hey, would you mind if I came and kept you company for a while? I mean, the high school is closed until the police can get a location on Eacker, and I don’t have anything going on today. I’ll come and wait with you, if that’s cool with you.”

Philip smiles at the offer, suddenly grateful for the fireball by the name of Martha Jefferson as he sits alone in the waiting room. “Actually, that would be great, if you…” Philip trails off as the waiting room door swings open and a woman walks in, five foot something of motherly fury and dark hair and faded jeans completed with a seriously unamused expression. Within seconds, Eliza stands before Philip in the empty waiting room, arms crossed and eyebrow quirked expectantly as she waits for an explanation.

“Mattie, I’m going to have to call you back.”

***

“So, you broke out of the house at 7 am to go to the hospital to do nothing but sit in an empty waiting room while your girlfriend is in the PICU and although you can’t see her until she’s out of intensive care, you went anyway just to sit around and wait pointlessly because you thought it might make you feel better or something along those lines,” Eliza listed off, sitting behind the wheel of her car with Philip slouching in the passenger seat beside her. Her eyes don’t leave the road. “Did I get everything?”

Philip sighs, staring out the window. “Yep, I think so.”

Eliza shakes her head, a small smile appearing on her face despite her better judgement. “Well, that’s a story.”

Snorting out a humorless laugh, Philip drums his fingers against the handle of the car door, tapping out a melody. “I guess so, huh?” He still stares out the window as the world spins by, his small smile fading. “So, I assume Dad sent you?”

“You assume correctly,” Eliza sighs, her smile flickering out as well. “He found you gone from your bed about half an hour ago without any explanation, Philip. You scared him.” She takes a breath, shooting a brief glance at the teenager before her gaze returns to the road a moment later, steering through the light morning traffic. “But then he tracked your phone, found you at the hospital, shifted from worried to pissed and called me because he needed some time to cool off and he needs to get ready for his next shift. Prepare for a lecture when you get home, though, because I’m pretty sure you’ll be getting one.”

Philip sighs again, the frustrated resignation heard in the sound, hands stuffed in his sweatshirt pocket. “Well, oops.”

“Oops is right,” Eliza agrees, her hair pulled into a sleek half-up ponytail as she watches the cars maneuver around her. “But I guess oops is kind of unavoidable. I mean, I’ve been dealing with some oops lately, so I can’t really judge you too much, can I?”

At this, Philip seems to gain interest. Sitting up a little straighter in his seat, his gaze flickers to Eliza’s determinedly set expression. “Wait, for real? Is everything okay?”

“I guess so,” Eliza sighs, hands resting on the steering wheel as they come upon a red light. “Maria and I have been going through some things lately, I guess. Nothing serious, but we’ve had more arguments lately that I’ve known what to do with.”

“What’s going on?”

Eliza sighs, knowing she probably shouldn’t be ranting about to her wife to a sixteen-year-old boy but unable to resist the opportunity to let off some steam as the light turns to green and she begins to drive again. “James Reynolds, Maria’s ex-husband, wants to reconnect with Susan.”

“Continue.”

With that, Eliza starts talking. She just rants and talks and lets everything that’s been pissing her off lately with Maria and Reynolds and the seemingly unsolvable problem out, a complete unloading of all the terrible arguments and frustrating disagreements and constant state of conflict in the house, both of the women’s inability to see the other’s perspective and Eliza’s simple lack of understanding why Maria’s so set on not having Reynolds even come near Susan. When she finishes, her face is flushed with pink, she’s out of breath from talking so much, Philip’s watching her with a raised eyebrow and they’re only about five minutes from the Laurens-Hamilton house. Eliza pushes her hair away from her face in an attempt at a casual gesture, pretending that she hasn’t just spilled her guts to the teenage boy sitting beside her when he’s supposed to be the one in trouble. 

“So, there’s that,” she says simply, a blush warming her cheeks even more than already done as she steers towards Alex and John’s development. 

Philip seems to be considering something or another beside her, hesitant but making a decision as he speaks up. “Uh, Eliza, I know that you probably don’t want to hear this right now, but you don’t know everything on Maria’s side of the story, do you?”

Frowning, Eliza spares a glance towards Philip. “What do you mean?” she asks flatly. _I just spilled every last detail about my marriage problems to you and you’re questioning me? Rude._

“I mean, you don’t know everything about Reynolds. You’ve never even met the guy. What if… I guess what I’m trying to say is that you don’t know what he did to Maria while they were together. She left him for a reason, and maybe that reason was a little more physical than just the standard not getting along.”

Immediately, Eliza has a vague dismissal set up to tell Philip, that of course that’s not the case, that of course Maria would have told her, but that’s when it hits harder than she’s prepared for.

There’s a moment where everything seems to stop, as all the pieces snap together to resemble a terrible picture that Eliza managed to miss for far too long, as she realizes just what she doesn’t know. Why Maria flinches at unexpected touch, why she gets nervous around men she doesn’t know, why she always steps in front of Susan when an unfamiliar male gets just a little too close to the girl, as if she’s ready to protect her daughter with anything and everything she has if the situation arises.

Eliza freezes, her hands locking on the steering wheel, Philip watching her in her peripheral vision as her lips part slightly, realizing everything at once. 

_Oh._

***

“Hey, just thought I’d check in with you guys before I headed home.” John stands in the doorway of the hospital room, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest, still in his scrubs, a teal green color today. His hair is pulled back in it’s usual neat ponytail, and he shoots a grim smile Aaron’s way when the man turns to face him in his chair, still stationed at Theo’s bedside. “How is she?”

Aaron sighs at the question, his dark gaze flickering back to his daughter, unconscious in the bed. “She’s woken up a few times today, for a few minutes, so she’s doing better, I suppose. Still no concrete answers yet.”

“As to be expected,” John sighs, staying at the door. He’s technically not supposed to be here and technically not supposed to even be in this wing of the hospital, but no one’s objecting against it and he’ll take advantage when he can. “And how about you? Are you doing alright?”

“I suppose.”

John’s expression softens slightly, taking in the droop of Aaron’s posture, the darkness beneath his eyes, the disheveled appearance his clothes have long adopted. “You looked exhausted, Aaron,” he tells him bluntly albeit gently, shifting so that his right shoulder is pressed against the doorframe and he’s facing into the room.

The other man releases a breath, running a weary hand over his scalp. Theo appears to be asleep between the paper-thin sheets of the bed, the beeping monitors and humming machinery filling Aaron’s pause as John watches the other man doubtfully, knowing exactly the kind of shit Aaron’s going to try to pull and purposefully deciding in advance that he’s not going to let him get away with it. 

The instincts and thought process of a nurse, everyone, brought to you by John Laurens-Hamilton.

“I’m fine, John, I just haven’t had much time for sleep lately,” Aaron says predictably, attempting to brush off his own needs in favor of Theo’s, a classic maneuver John has seen more times with worried family members than he can count. The father avoids John’s gaze, instead looking towards the ground in an air of sheepishness.

John frowns dryly at the obvious lie, pushing off the doorframe to walk fully into the room and stand in front of Aaron. The other man’s eyes have found their way back to his daughter, watching the slight rise and fall of her chest in sync with the beeps of one of the monitors even as John stands demandingly before him, managing to convey both concern and sass in one experienced stance in the quiet hospital room.

“How long has it been since you’ve slept, Burr?” John asks flatly, his tone not leaving room for lies and half-truths. He’s got the whole tough love thing down to a science by this point; raising three kids and being a nurse for over fifteen years will do that to a man, and by this time in his life he’s simply learned to embrace it.

Aaron hesitates, not looking away from Theo but the conflict evident in his expression anyway. His hands are folded in his lap and he sits straight in his chair, but nonetheless, the weariness and exhaustion written in his posture is clear as well.

“Aaron, answer me.”

“I can’t sleep in an empty house,” Aaron finally snaps, looking somewhat embarrassed as his gaze locks on John’s, as if he’s daring the nurse to question this. “With Theo here, there’s no one back at the house, and I can’t sleep. So I’ve spending nights here, just in case anything happens, and I still can’t sleep. It’s been nearly three days.”

It’s about at that moment, while Aaron’s staring at him with a mix of frustration and embarrassment, the exhaustion clear in his eyes, that John melts. 

_Alex is gonna kill me._

***

Alexander comes home later than usual that night, having being held up in the office while trying to deal with the insanity of the Eacker case on top of his actual work. So he unlocks the front door with fumbling hands, stepping into the house with a sigh as he shrugs out of his coat in the darkness of the foyer. By this point, Angie’s almost definitely asleep, Philip’s probably well on his way and, with John, nothing’s ever for certain. But, right now, Alex is more interested in getting in bed and passing out himself than anything else, so he stumbles into the living room with the intent of getting upstairs and flicks on a singular lamp. 

He’s greeted with the sight of Aaron Burr on his couch, settled with a pillow and blanket, the whole nine yards, fast asleep on Alex’s sofa.

_”JOHN?!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so quick explanation on Mattie’s character: She is based off of Thomas and Martha Jefferson’s oldest daughter, Martha Jefferson Randolph. I gave her the nickname to separate her from the million other Marthas in history that might pop up in this story, but her historical nickname was Patsy. Because I’m kind of going to be going into the past of the other Patsy, Martha Washington’s daughter, I thought Mattie would be a more modern and recognizable nickname. 
> 
> ALSO NOTE: Mattie, Georges, Frances, Theo, and Susan do not have any representation in the musical, so I get to make them however I like. I DO NOT WRITE THEM AS HISTORICALLY ACCURATE. I do some basic research on each one when I introduce them, and then I let myself make the characters my own according to how I envision them and how they’ll work with or against the story. They aren’t anything like their historical counterparts! I just use the same names and relationships, and even some of the relationships (coughPhilipdosiacough) didn’t happen either. Just wanted to make sure you guys knew that, and if you’ve got the time, leave me a comment telling how you guys like these new characters of mine!! 
> 
> Next chapter Monday and I hope you have a great week!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex gets mad, Aaron speaks with the doctor, Lafayette and Hercules aren’t happy with each other and Eliza finally talks to Maria.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! 
> 
> Here’s the long and dramatic chapter 7. Little angsty but kinda fun to write for me, so I hope you guys like it!
> 
> TODAYS WARNINGS: Kinda hefty today, actually. Addict returning to their addiction and insisting they’ve got it under control and domestic violence victim talking about their abuse. 
> 
> Beta’d by Jaysong, as always, and next chapter Monday!! Enjoy!

Somehow, when Alex storms into the room with a livid expression on his face late into the evening, John can’t find it in himself to be surprised. 

_”John.”_

The man in question innocently raises his gaze from the book in his lap, hazel eyes eyes behind rimless glasses slightly sheepish but calm. “Yes, dear?”

Alex’s burning gaze is dangerous, his words meticulously pronounced as he stands at the foot of the bed. He wears a white dress shirt under a grey suit jacket, his black tie loose, hands trembling slightly at his sides. “Why is _Aaron Burr_ asleep in our living room?”

John, on the other hand, leans against the headboard with pajama-clad legs stretched out and crossed before him with an open book resting in his hands, the man sitting atop the sheets but the bedclothes rumpled anyway. Although John has half a mind to wonder why the man appears to be so angry, he keeps in mind the unexpectancy of the situation. “Because I invited him.”

“Without consulting me?”

Sighing, John closes the book but doesn’t move position. “He hasn’t slept in three days, Alexander,” he explains quietly, knowing that once the surprise wears off Alex will (hopefully) understand his reasoning. “Letting him crash here was his only chance to possibly catch a few hours.”

His husband’s highly frustrated expression doesn’t change, arms now crossed across his chest and a few limp strands of hair hanging in his face from the loosened bun at the back of his head. “You should have at least _warned me,_ John.”

A frown begins to form on John’s face as he sits up from the bed, realizing that the other man’s anger isn’t going away as quickly as he had thought it would. _What’s going on?_ “Alex, is everything okay? You’re worrying me a little; you’re acting strange.”

“Everything’s fine,” Alex says in a tone that suggests everything is most certainly not, finally straying from his spot glaring at John to begin getting ready for bed. But, even with an action as mundane as this, he still manages to make it look seriously pissed. “Everything’s fine, I just wish you would have called or… I don’t know, or something.”

John sits alone on the bed, watching his husband stalk around the room in a puzzled yet concerned fashion, the other man tugging the elastic from his hair a but rougher than required as he grabs for sleep clothes and stays decidedly quiet, as if he’s livid for a reason he now feel stupid about but can’t drop the matter entirely yet. Because the silence is beginning to get to John within a few minutes, he’s the one to break it. “It’s one night, Alex, I really don’t see the big deal here.”

On his way to the attached bathroom when John spoke, Alex pauses, turning around to face his husband with an expression that flickers between calm, frustrated and incredulous. “The _big deal_ is you allowed my coworker to come and stay at our home without even sending me a text! That’s the big deal, Laurens.”

John’s gaze settles on Alex’s, hazel eyes grim as the two men face off. “This isn’t about Aaron, is it?”

Alex doesn’t respond, instead just staring at John for a long moment from the doorway of the bathroom, chewing on the corner of his lip with an expression that is determinedly neutral, waiting, but miraculously not as angry as a few moments before. 

“What’s going on, Alex?” John asks quietly, voice steady.

There’s a long moment of quiet as the two men stare each other down, Alex defiant and John expectant. But then it’s almost as if Alexander gives in, posture sagging as he rubs a weary, defeated hand over the lower half of his face, hands shaking so slightly it’s barely noticeable. 

“Washington forbade me from doing any more work with the Eacker case.”

“Oh, Alex.”

Like flipping a switch, Alex goes from stiffly angry to barely standing, stumbling over to the bed and sinking into a sitting position on the edge of the matteess, his expression suddenly exhausted. 

“I’m sorry, hon,” John murmurs, a sympathetic hand resting on his husband’s knee as he moves to sit on the edge of the bed as well, beside the other man. Although, for a moment, John isn’t quite sure why this means so much to Alex and has such an ability to nearly knock him off his axis, it soon becomes clear. This case, the prospect of tracking down Eacker, of getting revenge, has been the only thing keeping him going for the past three days. And now that aspiration is gone… well, John can’t find it in him to blame the man for overreacting about Aaron when tensions are already so high.

“There’s nothing you could have done about it,” sighs Alexander, running a tired hand through his hair as he leans against his husband almost unconsciously. He’s still in his work clothes; plans of changing have long been abandoned in favor of first arguing then talking with John. “It’s just been… it’s been an extremely long day, darling.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Aaron,” John says quietly, his thumb sweeping back and forth over Alex’s knee. 

The other man lets out a huff of a mirthless laugh at that, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand, loose hair falling forward with the motion. “Aaron’s fine. I’m sorry for going off on you.”

John releases a breath, his gaze flickering to his husband’s profile from his place beside him. There’s a few lamps on in the bedroom, enough light to see by without killing anyone’s corneas at this hour. The soft glow plays along Alex’s hair as the man‘s head rests in his hand, John tucking a glossy strand behind his husband’s ear from where it was hanging in his face. “I really do feel bad about the case,” John sighs. His leg is pressed up against Alex’s, the both of them still sitting on the edge of the mattress. “That’s kind of shitty of Washington.”

“Well, I understand his intentions, but he isn’t my favorite person right now either.”

A moment of silence follows, John watching Alex and Alex watching nothing in particular with a quiet peace making itself known between them. But, even in the somber mood of the conversation, a small smile is soon appearing on John’s face, a light breath escaping him in resemblance of a laugh as his mind backtracks to the situation that played out earlier today.

“Well, I think I may know something to help cheer you up, if you’d like to hear it,” John offers in an attempt to lighten the mood, watching his husband’s expression carefully as Alex turns his head slightly to look at him. 

A minuscule, grim smile twitches at Alex’s lips as his eyes warm slightly, dark and reflective in the limited light. “Try me.”

“It turns out Philip is a teenager after all. He snuck out of the house this morning to catch a bus to the hospital, the first time he’s tried sneaking out since-“

“-he was thirteen and he ran off to Mattie Jefferson’s Halloween party,” Alex finishes, a faint chuckle escaping him at the memory, the sound slightly strained but genuine enough. “That’s my kid.”

John smiles at well, pleased that Alex’s attention had been redirected without much trouble. “It wasn’t quite as funny when I found him gone from his bed this morning with no explanation, but you gotta laugh at some point,” he adds, the smile still twitching at his mouth. “He’s a good kid, just a touch stupid. Much like both of us at his age.”

“Excellent point,” Alex laughs, and although they don’t speak of it, his eyes portray his awareness and gratitude of John’s subject change as hazel meets brown. The lawyer pulls his husband closer, a sigh escaping him. “We did a good job with him.”

“Of course we did,” agrees John, his head resting lightly on Alex’s shoulder and Alex’s chin settling on his head. “He, Angie and Frances are some of our proudest accomplishments, if I do say so myself.”

Alex sighs again, a faint smile still playing at the corner of his lips. The bedroom is quiet and the mood lightened, even if Alex’s eyes do betray the anxiety and distress still plaguing him, even if John’s posture reveals just how tired the nurse is as well, the smiles both of them still wear override the stress of the day. “I love you, John.”

“And I you.”

***

“Good morning, Mr. Burr!”

Aaron turns at the sound of the voice to see the now familiar doctor bustling into the room, white hair flashing under the harsh lighting and a clipboard in his grip. Although Aaron isn’t the biggest fan of the man, he seems knowledgeable and experienced enough, and Aaron can only be thankful for that. “Good morning,” he returns smoothly, a small smile gracing his expression.

“Morning,” Theo pipes up from the bed, attempting a grin herself. The mattress is now slightly elevated into a vague sitting position after she coaxed one of the more impressionable nurses to change it for her earlier this morning, much to Aaron’s amused despair, and her color has begun coming back, dark eyes brighter than Aaron allowed himself to hope.

The doctor’s gaze snaps to the girl in pleased surprise, a beaming smile very quickly written across his expression. “Why, Miss Theodosia! Lovely to see you awake again!” he exclaims.

“For me too,” Theo agrees brightly, her stamina at staying aware for longer periods of time slowly building up. Since she woke up for the first time Wednesday evening, she’s been off and on conscious at random intervals, for slightly longer each time. Now that’s it Friday morning and despite the fact that she can’t over exert herself in any way, she’s been able to stay up and talk with Aaron quite a bit lately, which has lightened both of their moods considerably.

“How are we feeling today?” continues the doctor, making a note on his clipboard before straying over to the display of monitors and machines set up beside the bed. Although the question was directed at Theo, his gaze is fixed on the screens, eyes slightly narrowed as he analyzes the information. “Any pain, nausea, symptoms of any kind that I should know about?”

Aaron watches the two converse for a few more minutes, the doctor adjusting a few things among the arrangement of equipment based off of what Theo reports and chuckling lightly at the girl’s faintly weak but spirited nonetheless attempts at banter with him. She’s far from okay; it’s going to be a long while before she’s okay again, and Aaron constantly reminds himself of this to avoid being fooled by her good attitude and avoidance of speaking of or even mentioning her pain and injuries. But she’s awake, and she’s laughing, and she’s smiling, and that’s all he can ask for. 

It’s not long before the doctor’s attention slides from his patient to her father, his gaze finding Aaron’s with a smile that suddenly looks subtly strained, strangely enough. “Now, Mr. Burr, if you’ll just step into the hall with me for a moment,” he says in a way that’s a bit more than suggesting, and Aaron nods once before looking back towards Theo. 

“I’ll be right back,” he tells her, squeezing her hand lightly before he gets up from his chair and follows the doctor out of the room, leaving the sounds of beeping machinery behind them. 

A few feet away from the doorway of the hospital room, the doctor stops and turns to face Aaron with an expression that walks the line between hopeful and grim. Aaron steels himself, unsure of what the doctor is needing to tell him, sliding his hands into his pant pockets as he waits for the other man to begin.

“Aaron,” he starts tentatively, his mood forever more somber than a few moments before in a somewhat startling turnaround, washed out in the glaring hospital lights, fidgeting with his clipboard. His white hair seems to reflect the lights casted upon it, watery blue eyes meeting Aaron’s dark, expectant gaze. “I know that it looks like Theo is doing excellently, and she is, considering the nature of her injury and the time since the shooting,” he says, his voice soft. Aaron watches warily yet silently. “But you must understand, there are always unexpected variables in the equation, no matter how well you think you know the problem.” And there it is, Aaron letting out a breath as he sees where this conversation is going. “There are be a number of unexpected issues that may arise in the near future, and although we can and I encourage you to hope that it will be smooth sailing from this point on, we both know that I cannot promise anything, despite my wishes.” The doctor’s smile is grim. “She’s doing well, Aaron, better than I ever could have expected from her. But she is not out of the woods yet. She could go downhill at any time, and although she may be able to recover from that as well, we just don’t know what the future holds. You simply must remember that, Mr. Burr.”

Aaron’s gaze fixes on the old doctor’s as he nods, expression neutral and eyes steady but heart hammering out a pattern not unlike that of a jackhammer as the words hit him where it hurts. He knew that Theo wasn’t in the clear yet, of course he knew, but hearing it said aloud is an entirely different matter in itself. The words and thoughts in his mind chase each after other like bullets chasing deer, a nonstop battering of stress and renewed worry and concern. He has so much to say and so little time to say it, so many concerns to voice and questions to ask and thoughts to wonder, that they seem to freeze him in his tracks, unallowing him of any other actions or reactions besides staring the doctor in the eye and nodding like an idiot. 

Words hit harder than any punch, Aaron’s known that for a very long time. But never before this experience has he ever realized just how much force a single word holds, how much power is stored in one exhalation. And now there’s nothing left to do but add more words to the already overflowing supply, to add more fire to the flame, until other opportunities present themselves, until Aaron has the ability to do more than stand and stare. 

There are times that you must trust life, trust whatever it has in plan for you, allow it to do with you what it will. And there are times that there is no other choice but to trust life, when you have no option but taking on whatever is handed to you whether it’s your responsibility or not to handle it, and trust that you will get through, like a lone man through a storm. And it’s at these times that you are at your weakest, when you are powerless against everything you were once above, and you must understand that a loss of control is not something to be feared but something to be conscious of. These times come few and far between, a rare occurrence that comes only a few times in one’s life, an experience of total loss of power that is not to be wished upon anyone. 

Aaron has never been more sure of a fact than he is of this being one of these times.

He’s never been particularly good at not being in control. It made him nervous to be powerless, uncomfortable to be operating underneath something larger than himself than the other way around. But time after time he’s been confronted with an inability to take charge, forced to step back and allow someone else to take the lead, and he’s positive that this is another one of those times. And, in a situation where next to nothing is for sure, when there’s very little to be considered definite, he can only cling to the last shred of certainty, no matter what it represents. 

Aaron has never been good at not being in control, but this is an issue much bigger than himself. 

_Life doesn’t discriminate._

“Of course, doctor. Thank you for informing me.”

***

Lafayette is far more observative than he’s thought to be.

So, when Hercules comes stumbling in through the door a few hours after he should have gotten off work, eyes bleary and clothing disheveled, he finds Laf sitting expectantly at the kitchen table and watching him with a dry expression, suspicions running wild in his mind.

“You are home late,” Lafayette says flatly but neutrally from his spot at the table, folded hands resting on the polished wood, watching as Herc’s dazed expression focuses on him with a sense of puzzled weariness. 

“Yeah, I, uh, I ran into some stuff at work,” Hercules mutters a second later, as if he took a moment to process his husband’s words, already trying to walk towards the upstairs and escape the conversation that has serious potential to turn from casual dialogue to a full on interrogation. 

But Laf beats him to his getaway, instead getting up from the table smoothly and stepping over to block Herc’s path. His dark eyes are calculating and watchful, flickering over his husband’s face. It’s quite late on Friday night at this point, the night dark through the windows, and Herc and Lafayette are alone; William is apparently staying at an unspecified friend’s house yet again while Georges has long retreated to the basement, probably conked out on the couch by this time with the paused video game still playing in the background. But right now, the conversation and tension between the couple standing a few feet apart under the soft kitchen lighting is more demanding on Laf’s attention, and he pulls himself back into the moment before he even realizes his mind has begun to wander. 

“Why did you not call, then?” asks the Frenchman, his tone not leaning one way or the other, instead determinedly walking the line between expectant and pissed, despite his voice still being soft. He stands before Hercules with his arms crossed over his chest, the few inches his husband has on him made up for in a mixture of passion and hair, gaze locked on Herc’s.

The other man looks uncomfortable yet unsteady, as if he could trip over himself at any point in time, as he stares at his husband in a bleary yet clear lack of understanding the situation. Although he’s still in work clothes, his tie is loosened and his suit rumpled, words slurred so slightly it would be considered unnoticeable to anyone but his husband. “I’m sorry, Laf, I got distracted.”

_I was correct after all._

Lafayette purses his lips as the confirmation of his suspicions settles in, wishing that he was wrong about this one but knowing, deep down, that he’s absolutely right. He stands in pajama pants and a t-shirt in the darkened kitchen, arms still crossed defensively over his chest as he heaves a sigh, bracing himself for what he’s about to say. “Then please explain to me why I can smell the alcohol on you from where I stand,” he finally requests quietly, not breaking eye contact. 

Hercules immediately stiffens, a mix of guilt, embarrassment and sudden, fierce understanding flashing across his expression. He’s sharpened quite suddenly, already formulating excuses and apologies in his mind. “Laf-“

“Hercules, you are drinking again?” Lafayette asks exasperatedly, his neutral front crumbling as he begins to pace the kitchen, Herc’s reaction the final piece to confirm, completely and irreversibly, that Laf’s worst suspicions are true.

So, Laf’s pretty much panicking. But, considering his addict husband just turned right back to his addiction, he doesn’t feel too terribly about it. “We have spoken about this!” he exclaims, tone incredulous bordering on controlled hysterical. “Must we go over the last time this has happened?! Three years ago, your brother died unexpectedly, and you turned to alcohol for relief. It took _months_ to wean you off your dependency for liquor, Herc! Do you not remember this as well as I do, because I will never forget it, and I can never allow that to happen again.”

“Lafayette, that was so different,” Herc tries, but his husband has already gone on, still pacing the tile of the kitchen furiously as he rants, the words taking on more and more of a French accent as he gets more and more worked up.

“You came very, very close to ruining our family, Hercules. Georges and William already are forced to manage so much shit in this world with being both adopted and the sons of gay men, they do not need an alcoholic father on top of this.” He stops suddenly, turning to face Herc with sudden intensity. _”Why,_ Hercules. Why are you putting yourself and us in danger by going and getting yourself drunk with no explanation?” He’s breathless and defiant yet vulnerable, staring down his husband with wounded yet hardened eyes in the darkness of the kitchen.“I merely want an explanation.”

Hercules works to take a breath, struggling for words and statements that might make this situation better. Lafayette stands a few feet away, watching Herc silently as Herc runs a hand over his short cropped hair uncomfortably, releasing a sigh. 

“Laf, this is an entirely different situation,” he tries, voice quiet. “Three years ago I did develop a dependency for alcohol and I’m not going to deny that, but you got to understand, I can stop this time. I promise-“

“You better promise!” Lafayette interrupts vehemently, eyes flashing again suddenly, his anger renewed. “Because if you have to go back to rehab, if we have to inform our children that you have chosen liquor over them for the second time in only three years, if we have to manage this all over again-“

“I have it under control, Lafayette!” Herc shouts, cutting his husband off. Although he gains control again less than a moment later, his expression is still firm and has an undercurrent of dominance, of commanding, finally reaching his limit. He leaves his husband no room for objections. 

Laf stops short, shining eyes flashing to Hercules in an action of stunned surprise at his authority. They face off in the quiet kitchen, Laf’s gaze flickering over Herc’s set expression as he struggles for words. 

The couple have been together for an exceptionally long time now, dealing with endless issues; financial problems, homophobia, and getting cleared to adopt Georges and William being just a few examples. But very rarely has Lafayette seen Hercules take charge like this, commanding and firm and authoritative to nearly a fault. 

“Okay,” Laf says finally, his voice quiet and expression tentative, hesitant after Herc’s outburst. “Just make sure this does not get out of hand. That is all I can ask of you.”

“It won’t. Just- just trust me, won’t you? I promise, I’ve got everything under control.”

“Of course I trust you. I apologize.”

***

It takes Eliza about a day to figure out how to approach speaking to Maria about what she’s figured out, what to say, how to start. She shuffles through dozens of methods and ideas, but in the end, she decides on a simpler, more casual approach; asking her after dinner, once Susan retired upstairs and it’s just the two of them sitting in the living room, Maria scrolling through her phone and Eliza reading from a book propped up in her lap, just a few lamps allowing limited but warm lighting in the room.

Maybe ten minutes after they sit down, Eliza lowers her book tentatively, closing the thick volume and setting it on the couch cushion to her right as she prepares herself for the conversation to come. Maria sits on her left, iPhone held carelessly in one hand while the other swipes through photos on Facebook. 

It’s only when Eliza clears her throat that Maria looks up from the screen, eyebrows raised slightly as she finds her wife staring at her in a faintly creepy manner. “Yes…?” she says slowly, braided hair draped over her shoulder, prompting Eliza to begin. 

“Uh,” she mutters, trying to find the best way to approach the subject, which leads to Maria’s eyebrows dropping in concern.

Powering off her phone and setting it aside, Maria scoots closer to Eliza, faint worry written in her expression. “Hon? Is everything okay?”

“Yes, of course,” Eliza responds dismissively, immediately, but still looking conflicted. _How do I ask this? ‘Hey, hon, did your ex-husband abuse you?’ There’s got to be a bit more graceful way._

Maria frown only deepens at that, clearly not believing her wife but unsure of what’s going on. “Eliza-“

“You know how I drove Philip home yesterday?” Eliza blurts out, starting at the beginning. Maria watches somewhat warily but nods regardless. “Well, while I had him, we started a conversation.”

“Oh god, Eliza, you didn’t try to give him the talk, did you?” Maria asks, her expression now plainly horrified as the details of what may have happened in that car run through her mind, dark eyes widening slightly. “I think you scarred him enough when you explained the function of a tampon to him when he was twelve. And although I’m sure Frances probably beat you to the punch, I’d never seen the poor kid look more traumatized than when he left that day.”

“What? Oh, god no,” Eliza says, frustrated at her failed attempts at starting this topic and wishing that she could just get it out. She rakes a hand through her hair nervously, uncomfortable and skittish. “I’m pretty sure John and Alex covered that one years ago, Maria.”

“Then what did you want to tell me about this conversation you and Philip had?” Although Maria is clearly trying to be serious, there’s still a glint of amusement in her eyes, the humor refusing to be stifled, a rare occurrence in the past few days with everything that’s been happening that’s about to come quite a bit rarer.

Eliza takes a breath, fidgeting with a loose thread on her jeans as she begins speaking again, her voice tentative. “Well, I started talking to Philip about- well, about us, and our situation.”

Maria’s expression has darkened very quickly, her amusement fading into an expression of determined annoyance edging on frustration as she realizes where this conversation is going. While Eliza sits soft and slightly bent over, her elbows resting on her thighs, Maria sits straight and still and stoic. 

“I guess I needed to let off some steam, and Philip was just there and willing to listen, so I… I ranted to him for a while about the Reynolds situation. And although I don’t think he understood it completely, he had some good points,” she says slowly, watching as Maria’s expression becomes more and more grave. 

“Is that what this is about-“ Maria starts, her voice warning, when Eliza just blurts out the question in what is possibly the most graceless way possible. 

“Did Reynolds beat you?” 

A long, still moment of stunned silence settles over the women, Eliza flushing and ducking her head in embarrassment as Maria freezes, her gaze locked on Eliza. Neither say a word for several seconds, Maria completely and utterly still while Eliza inwardly curses her stupidity and total lack of tactfulness.

Then Maria takes a shaky breath, hints of shock and faint panic traced through her expression, voice quiet, as the atmosphere sound from mostly pleasant and familiar to something much less comfortable and much more unknown in a matter of seconds. “Why are you asking me this?”

Eliza slowly raises her gaze up to meet Maria’s, an ashamed blush flaring in her cheeks as he purses her lips. She’s already gone this far; might as well go farther. “Because it makes sense.”

“Eliza-“

“Answer me, Maria,” the other woman interrupts, her voice unmoving but expression taking on a sudden, fierce edge. Although the blush remains, her eyes sharpen, her gaze snapping to and fixing on her wife’s before softening again a moment later, worry in her features. “Please. Tell me I’m wrong, tell me I didn’t screw up worse than I could ever think imaginable.”

Maria’s hands tremble in her lap even as her expression smooths over, wide, faintly panicked eyes and lips parted with shock transforming to a composed, cool, collected expression almost immediately. “Of course not, that’s absurd, Eliza.”

Hands also shaking but for a very different reason, Eliza shakes her head, slowly at first but then quicker, knowing that Maria’s withholding the truth. “Don’t lie to me,” she says softly, her voice trembling.

The other woman’s eyes harden. “What do you want from me? What do you want me to say? What response would satisfy you, huh?” she demands, her voice quiet but intense. Although her expression is determinedly stoic, there’s traces of something else hidden in her features, and it’s not long before Eliza can recognize it as fear. “Leave it, Eliza. Besides, it was a very long time ago, there’s nothing to be done now.”

“So you admit to it,” notes Eliza, her voice barely audible even in the silence of the living room. “James Reynolds abused you.”

“What? No!” Maria snaps, suddenly looking frustrated and conflicted and under attack. She pulls away from her wife, dark eyes flashing. “Eliza, seriously-“

“No,” Eliza interrupts, her voice now gaining volume and intensity, straightening her posture with a fire in her eyes. “No. I’m not going to let you just brush this off! _Say it,_ Maria! He hurt you!”

“And what if he did?” Maria bites back immediately, the words a snarl. “What if he did beat me up a few times? Will that get you to stop nagging me about letting Reynolds see Susan? I took the abuse until the day he tried to touch her, Eliza. Then I ran, to save my baby. I refuse to go back to such a low to let her reconnect with her father; what kind of mother would I be if I did?”

Eliza just stares in silence for a long moment for a long moment, her mind trying to catch up with everything just said. “Love-“

“I can’t do this right now,” Maria mutters nearly to herself, getting up from the couch in a fast movement and attempting to move away just for her hand to be caught by her wife. Right when she whips around to snarl out a demand to be released, she catches sight of Eliza’s expression. Big, pained eyes, pale face, trembling lips, silently begging Maria not to leave, to stay and talk this out. 

Maria’s always been helpless around her. 

Blowing out a long breath, Maria drops back down beside Eliza on the couch, the adrenaline from the fast paced dialogue dying down to be replaced with a sense of pained remembrance and fear that has to be years old. Her wife keeps her hand within her grip, Eliza’s dark eyes pleading for forgiveness in the quiet of the living room. 

“I am so sorry, love,” Eliza whispers, horror at her actions and Maria’s past written across her face. “I- I didn’t know, I didn’t realize, I would never-“

“How would you have?” Maria interrupts quietly, not making eye contact and instead staring aimlessly at the floor. “I never mentioned it, or him, there’s no way you would have known. Don’t blame yourself, sweetheart.”

There’s a moment of quiet that follows the words, Maria staring at her hands in her lap that still hold a slight tremor, Eliza sitting beside her on the worn couch with a patient sense of guilt. Maria’s not sure how long they sit there in silence, but finds herself speaking at some point, releasing the things she’s kept to herself for far too many years. 

“The thing they never tell you about domestic abuse,” she starts quietly, still not meeting Eliza’s gaze, “is just how much you love your abuser. The same man that struck me gave me flowers on Valentine’s Day, the same man who would get drunk and beat the shit out of me made me dinner three nights a week. They don’t warn you about that.” Maria smooths a curl behind her ear with a trembling hand, releasing a breath and blinking back tears even as her voice remains steady. She’s never spoken about her experience before, and she’s not entirely sure how she feels about it, but she continues on anyway in a decision that isn’t quite conscious choice. “I guess that’s why it took me so long to get us out of there. Yes, he would get violent fast, but I was convinced that he was a good man for a long time. But like I said before, the day he tried to get at Susan was the day I made my decision to run. I filed for divorce as soon as I could following, had enough time to think over what had happened, who Reynolds was, and realized just how much of a victim he made me into.”

Eliza purses her lips, cautiously settling a gentle hand on her wife’s shoulder just to be tugged into a hug, silent tears tracking down Maria’s cheeks as she buried her face in Eliza’s hair. Part of Maria’s mind is screaming _don’t speak, don’t tell, he’ll only hurt you worse_ in an automatic instinct she hasn’t experienced in years, but she ignores it with some difficulty, just talking it through.

“I- I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, and I’m sorry you didn’t know, and I’m sorry I went off on you, god, Eliza, I’m so sorry for everything,” she whispers, the tears now heard in her voice as Eliza holds her, soothing her as the silent tears turn into sobs. 

Eliza’s eyes aren’t exactly dry either, but she’s got to be here for Maria, her arms full of sobbing wife and her mind full of a mix of guilt, horror and empathy. They still sit on the worn, faded couch, Maria still hurriedly mumbling things into her wife’s shoulder that Eliza can’t quite make out through the tears and Eliza stroking her hair comfortingly, whispering reassurances in the darkening living room as Maria breaks down. 

It takes a few long moments for Maria to catch her breath again, Eliza still holding her close and allowing her all the time she needs. But when Maria’s soft, tear choked ramblings die off and the two women are left in quiet, there comes a small _I’m sorry_ from Maria that’s just so broken Eliza can’t help but pull away just enough to see Maria’s face, a small, sad smile gracing her expression. 

“Hey,” she whispers, threading her fingers through Maria’s hair and sweeping away the few last tears with her thumb. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re so incredibly strong, Maria, it’s alright to have a moment, I promise you.”

Hiccuping slightly, Maria attempts a smile herself, pulling Eliza back to her as she releases a shuddering breath. “Thank you.”

Pressing a kiss to her wife’s shoulder, Eliza lets out a sigh as well. “Of course, my love.”

Eliza has never had to be in a situation like that. She’s always been lucky enough to have a loving family, nonabusive significant others, an extremely supportive friend group that she can turn to when things get rough. She’s never been struck by someone she loves, never been hit or assaulted or mentally broken down. So, she can’t exactly sympathize with Maria. 

But man, can she empathize. 

And it’s in that dark, quiet living room, with Eliza’s chin settled in Maria’s shoulder with the latter still catching her breath, that Eliza makes a decision, a spark of determination igniting in her eyes as the silent resolve blooms in her mind. 

_I will never let him touch you again._

_I promise you, Maria._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and pretty please leave me a comment with any feedback/thoughts/incoherent screaming you might have. 
> 
> See you Monday!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philidosia reunites, Laf And Herc have problems and then Philip gets a text.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! 
> 
> So this chapter is short and not that great... I may come back and revise it later. But, anyway, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Beta’d by Jaysong and next chapter Monday!!

“I swear to god, if this gets me fired I will never forgive you.”

Philip flashes John a smile over his shoulder, ponytail whipping with the movement, stride nearly bouncing as he hurries along the hospital hallways, a half step in front of John. The nurse follows behind in a sense of exasperated amusement, feeling somewhat guilty that he’s literally sneaking his son in to see Theo but too focused on the pure joy radiating out of his son to really notice. 

“Well, just know that if you are fired, I love you more than I ever have before in my life,” Philip retorts, mussed hair and worn clothing looking terribly out of place in the glaring lighting and sterile walls, yet a spark of familiarity in the cold surroundings. His father walks beside him in his scrubs, the two passing the occasional nurse or family member in the mostly empty halls.

John huffs a laugh, shaking his head. His hands swing by his sides easily, a relaxed, casual presence next to Philip’s borderline hyperactive and excited energy. “That’s real kind of you, Pip. Glad to know that you love me now that I’m actually doing something nice for you.”

“Oh, Dad, come on-“

“Teasing, Philip. Relax.”

Falling back a half step, Philip walks beside John as the nurse leads them through the winding halls, directing both of them to Theo’s room. Hands in his pockets but a serious spring in his step, Philip looks like a mix of excited and nervous and anticipating all at once, a shaky grin on his face.

Noticing this, John smiles slightly, bumping his shoulder against his son’s as they walk. “Nervous?”

Philip lets out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head even as he fidgets with the zipper of his jacket. “Nah, not really. Just excited, I guess.”

“Hey, it’s okay if you’re a little anxious. Not saying you are, but seriously, I get it. You haven’t seen Theo for, how long has it been, three days? Four days? And the last time you saw her she was literally bleeding out in your arms. I don’t blame you for nerves.”

Again, Philip releases a breath of a laugh, shooting a quick glance over at John as he does so. His hair is pulled back in a half up ponytail, curls somewhat smooth for once. “No, really,” he insists, I don’t think it’s that. I guess I’m just kind of keyed up, or something.”

“That’s okay too.”

It’s Saturday morning, the weekend finally bringing some form of relief or reassurance with its familiarity. Although Philip, Georges and Mattie spent some time together yesterday, it’s just going to be Philip and Theo now, finally seeing each other again after four long days of cluelessness and worry, brought together in a union that’s only slightly illegal. 

So yes, John’s breaking a couple rules here. Okay, fine, John’s breaking quite a few rules here. But he can see the way Philip’s been slowly deflating the last few days, observing the toll all this stress has been taking on the teenager. And he certainly saw how Philip’s eyes lit up when he casually mentioned bringing him back to visit Theo, even for just a couple minutes, and that’s when John found himself spinning just a couple restrictions to his favor. Too late to go back now.

Finally turning into the hall that leads to Theo’s room, John sets a reassuring hand on Philip’s shoulder, momentarily stilling the boy’s nervous bouncing as they slow to a stop. Offering a small smile, the nurse tips his head towards a door just like all the rest. “She’s right in here.”

Philip nods jerkily, swallowing as he attempts a smile himself. Although it comes out shaky and nervous, John gets the gist, another smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Okay. Let’s do this,” Philip breathes, the words tentative but traced with excitement.

They step into the hospital room, the door swinging to a close behind them.

***

John’s expecting things to go a little uncomfortably at first, and he’s not exactly wrong. 

There’s one awkward second that takes place right when Philip walks into the room, both teenagers freezing at the sight of each other, gaze locked on the other. A long, still moment of silence follows, John stepping back to allow them their time, standing beside Aaron with a soft, fond expression on his face, both men watching their children from the back of the room. Philip stands frozen near the doorway, Theo frozen in the hospital bed, staring at each other like they couldn’t believe the other was just feet away from them. 

“Oh my god, _Theo.”_

But then everything snaps back to exactly how the two were before the shooting, just with slightly more tears.

Like time has suddenly been resumed, Philip shoots over to Theo’s side, both of them rambling softly as they reunite, touching each other and holding each other and holding back sobs and laughing shakily in disbelief simultaneously. Clutching the girl to him like a lifeline, careful not to disrupt her multiple tubes and monitors but embracing her tightly regardless, soaking up the feel of her in his arms, Philip releases a laugh that resembles a sob, pressing a kiss to Theo’s hair. 

Aaron and John stand a few feet away, both watching with an exhausted sense of fondness. They can hear the murmured _are you okay_ s and _I missed you so much_ s and _I love you_ s from here, both of them extremely aware of this but choosing not to mention it, neither actively seeking out eye contact with the other. 

But, at this point, Philip is far too focused on the girl before him to worry about John and Burr, instead just sitting on the edge on the bed and allowing himself to whisper everything that’s been going through his head for the past four days as Theo does the same, her face buried in his shoulder and both of them shaking so slightly it’s barely noticeable. She hugs him tight and close, fingers wrinkling the back of his shirt, breath trembling with relief. He holds her closer but carefully, as if she’s a piece of glass that may break at any moment. They sit in the hospital bed together and near, drinking in each other’s presence, taking every moment they have together as if it’s their last. 

That’s when Aaron leans towards John, his voice a whisper in the soft atmosphere of the room. “I was about to tell you two… she’s going to be okay. The doctor confirmed it just this morning.”

John just releases a sigh of relief, clapping Aaron on the shoulder in a way that could be considered congratulatory but is really just so John doesn’t fall over.

_She’s going to be okay._

_Can you imagine?_

***

This time, Lafayette knows just how bad it is the instant Hercules stumbles through the door. Before that, even.

For one, it’s the middle of the day. Her left this morning to have breakfast with a friend, which is at least regionally normal. Laf stayed home with Georges, settling down in the living room with a book and some French music while Georges hung out in his room, likely on the phone with Philip or Mattie and/or doing some stupid game on his computer. Lafayette has even caught a glimpse of William’s telltale red hair coming in a while back, suggesting the elder child’s presence somewhere in the house as well. But Hercules was gone for a reasonable amount of time, then it stretched to be a little less reasonable, and a lot less reasonable, and then just flat out wrong. 

That’s the second tip-off. Breakfast should have taken two hours at the very latest, but three and half hours later Lafayette had yet to receive a single text from his husband. Either Hercules and Cato were in an incredibly engaging conversation or Herc just wasn’t coming home when the breakfast concluded, and Laf had his money on the latter. 

The third, of course, is Hercules himself. 

The front door creaks open, the sound just barely heard over the music, just after noon. Laf leans over and turns off his speaker mutely, shutting his book and setting it aside in expectancy. The door closes softly a few second, followed by heavy, uncoordinated footsteps trailing down the hallway, towards the living room. At one point, there’s a scuffling sound and a dull thud, suggesting a stumble or barely-caught fall. It’s not long before the man to be held responsible for the noises himself staggers into the room, tripping every few steps with muddled movements. 

“Hercules.”

The man looks up at the sound of his name, the movement slow. His eyes are rimmed in red, clothing casual yet disheveled. He leans heavily against the wall beside him, one hand braced against the pale painted surface, perspiration shining at his temples and lips parted slightly in vague confusion. 

Lafayette stares back silently, a sense of subdued acceptance in his stomach at his husband’s appearance. Expression serious, eyes solemn, mouth pressed in a thin line of disappointment. The hurt is evident in every aspect of him, well hidden under a stiff, stoic outer appearance yet painfully obvious still. 

“What is it, Laf?” Herc slurs, pushing off the wall and stumbling a few steps closer to his husband. 

Shaking his head, Lafayette doesn’t break eye contact. He does not allow himself to overthink this, understanding the situation and what he has to do with silent acceptance. There’s a numb quiet settled in his mind. “You are drunk.”

Hercules snorts, too intoxicated to truly see just how much this is affecting Lafayette. “Yeah. And?”

“You lied to me.” Laf’s voice is level.

That makes Herc sharpen just slightly, eyes hardening. “What?”

Lafayette gets to his feet to avoid being below Hercules, but stays a safe distance from his husband. He’s been preparing this conversation for the past few hours, ever since the pieces snapped together in his mind, knowing that when the situation came he would likely give in before doing what’s needed to be done. Now, he allows no emotion to leak into his words. It would simply complicate things way too much. “Last night, you told me that you have this under control. I do not know your definition of under control, but this is certainly not mine.”

“I’m _fine,_ Lafayette-“

“No.” He shakes his head, expression emotionless. “No, you are not. You cannot handle this alone, Hercules.”

Now, Herc is beginning to become agitated. He pulls back a touch, expression slowly transforming from confused to upset. “You don’t know that! You don’t need to know everything I do.”

“I did not, no. But when you are developing an addiction, I do, considering our current situation is not working for either of us.”

“What do you mean-“

“Hercules. You are drunk. Just last night you were drunk. A few days ago you were drunk. You are drunk more than you are sober. You need help.”

Taking another uncoordinated step towards Lafayette, Hercules has now taken on a vaguely threatening edge. Lafayette watches him cooly, refusing to show the tendril of fear in his stomach. Right now, nothing is for certain. “I _do not,_ Laf. I’m fine. I know myself, I know what I can handle.”

“I know you better, Hercules.” Laf stares at Herc, studying his expression. “I know what you can handle better than you do. I have spent more than twenty years at your side, I know exactly how much you can control. And this is more than either of us can take.”

Herc’s brow lowers, scoffing. He’s confused and incoherent, but now that’s being channeled into anger, to Lafayette’s dread. “Lafayette-“

“No, Herc. Listen, _s’il vous plait,_ I only wish to help you, you must understand that this is now out of your control-“

It’s at that moment that Herc breaks. His hand raised faster than Laf is prepared for, a snarl erupts from him. “Just _shut up!”_

His hand comes down fast and hard. 

Lafayette catches his wrist a split second before it comes in contact with his face.

They both freeze in shock, Lafayette stumbling back a step from the force of the barely dodged blow. Herc’s breathless and appalled, staring at his hand, still raised, wrist still gripped by Lafayette’s fingers, the hand that so nearly struck his husband. Laf’s breathing stutters, the hand coming up to protect him purely instinctive and catching Herc’s wrist by sheer luck. They stand there, frozen and inches apart for several long seconds, both trying to absorb was just happened. 

Then Lafayette hardens. 

Herc’s wrist still in his grip, he firmly pushes his husband back, expression set. “Leave.”

Stumbling back, Hercules take a ragged breath, already trying to formulate apologies and explanation in his drunken mind. “Laf-“

_”Leave,_ Hercules,” Lafayette snaps, releasing his wrist with a fast movement. “I refuse to allow you to be near our children while you are in this state. You will not hurt us.”

Swallowing, Hercules reaches out to his husband with a shaking, tentative hand. “Lafayette,” he tries brokenly, but his husband steps out of his reach immediately. His dark eyes blaze, hurt and shock and pain overcome by fierce determination to protect his own. 

“Leave.”

Choking on a breath that resembles a sob, Herc finally nods. “Okay,” he agrees, voice barely audible. “Okay. I’ll call you.”

Lafayette does not react, standing defiant and independent in the middle of the room, arms crossed over his chest. He’s silent and unmoving, beautiful but untouchable. 

Herc brings a shaky hand to cover his mouth, entire being trembling. “I’m so sorry.”

“Get out, Hercules.”

“I love you.”

Lafayette does not respond. 

Forcing down another sob, Hercules turns away and leaves the room. His shaky footsteps are heard down the hall, then the front door opens and closes behind him and he’s gone. 

Lafayette sinks to the ground.

***

It’s not long before Theo’s energy runs out from the excitement of the morning, the girl falling asleep even though she fights the inevitable with passion. Luckily, Philip is there to reassure here that he’ll be there when she wakes up, that he’s not going anywhere. 

Now, the sixteen-year-old has taken Aaron’s customary chair at Theo’s bedside, John and Aaron running out for lunch while Theo’s still asleep. Philip sits on his phone, scrolling through social media, the stress and worry he’s been constantly experiencing finally eased from the few words told to him by Aaron earlier in the day. 

_She’s going to be fine._

Finally, _finally,_ it seems like everything’s going to be okay. Theo will recover. It’s like all the world’s problems have been solved or lessened in one sentence, at least for Philip, and the weak relief has yet to stop flooding through him. 

And then, in an act of cruel irony, he recieves the text. 

**George Eacker:** _Meet me at Weehawken Park tomorrow at dawn. Come alone or else. I can always hurt her further._

Philip freezes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m just gonna leave this here.... *runs away*


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The police come up with a plan and Philip carries it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!!
> 
> Sorry about that last cliffhanger, but here’s the next chapter. Let me know what you think in the comments once you’ve finished, if you’ve got the time! I’d appreciate it!
> 
> DISCLAIMER: There’s some police stuff that happens in this chapter, but my police knowledge stops, quite literally, at Stef Adams-Foster so please don’t take any of this as anywhere near accurate. It’s purely from my imagination. Thanks! 
> 
> Beta’d by Jaysong, next chapter Monday, and have a really great week until then!

He comes so close to going alone. 

It takes him hours to make the decision, hours of poring over the text, hours of considering every possible outcome with each situation and what would come with it. After Philip receives the text, Theo stays out for a period of time more while John and Aaron have long settled into a comfortable, relaxed conversation regarding colleges and GPAs, so Philip has the opportunity to consider his options for a while, hunched over his phone without having to give excuses for his excessive concentration on the small screen. Now, two hours after receiving the short text, he’s finally reached a decision, taking a stuttering breath as he opens his messages, preparing for impact before he can think better of it. 

“Uh, Dad?”

John turns easily, looking relaxed and content for the first time in several days. He and Aaron sit in plastic chairs near the foot of Theo’s bed while Philip remains in his bedside place, the nurse still chatting with Aaron about pointless crap now that the heavier stuff isn’t nearly as demanding as it was prior. Although the sterile surroundings remain cold and unfeeling, they’ve seemed to lose their uneasiness over the past few hours, becoming more familiar and comfortable with as many people in the room as there is on top of the relieved tension in the air. There still aren’t many homey touches but the overall atmosphere has improved greatly since Philip and John arrived. 

But now John shoots a small smile Philip’s way, responding to the shaky words. He’s oblivious to the stress and anxiety in Philip’s expression. “Yeah?”

Philip swallows. Turns his phone so the screen faces away from him. Extends the device to his father so that he can read the message. Watches the color drain out of John’s face. 

At the sudden subdued yet evident panic tensing in John, Aaron frowns and reads the text from over the nurse’s shoulder. Within seconds, he’s taken on the same stunned, dismayed reaction John has, Philip watching on miserably as the previously pleasant atmosphere goes to shit. 

For a long moment, neither one of the men say a word, just staring at the screen and trying to work their minds around the message as Philip watches silently, the silence in the room broken only by the steady beeping of the heart monitor and background buzzing of machinery.

“When… when did you receive this?” John asks quietly, voice level but very, very soft. 

Philip purses his lips, thankful for the reappearance of dialogue but guilty at the words. “Two hours ago,” he confesses, looking apologetic. “I’m sorry, I just didn’t know what to think, I promise I was planning on telling you-“

“No matter,” Aaron interrupts lowly, expression made of stone, posture tensing and hardening from casual to stoic. His voice is quiet, dropping in volume even more as he continues, leaving Philip wondering if he’s actually meaning for the Laurens-Hamiltons to hear or simply talking to himself. “We need to alert the authorities. Let the police know that we’ve received word from Eacker, tell those searching for this man that we know where he’s going to be tomorrow morning. And now, this is vital, of course . . .”

Philip tunes the man out even as Aaron continues to murmur to himself, the soft, muttered words becoming a background droning to the kid’s mind. No, his gaze and attention is settled on John instead, waiting on his father’s reaction to see how to react himself. 

That’s when John sits back in his chair, rubbing a dismal hand over the lower half of his face as he releases a long breath. His brow creases, hazel eyes taking on a worried edge, attempting to keep himself in check for Philip’s sake if nothing else but unable to hide his concern. “I need to call Alex.”

***

Sometimes, Philip forgets just how _different_ his dads are. 

But then a situation like this patters along, and he’s reminded that, while they fit together like pieces of a puzzle, Alex and John are practically fire and ice.

It’s not hard to figure out who is which. 

_”WHAT?!”_

“Alex, before you say anything else, I remind you that you are currently on speaker phone in the hospital parking lot, so keep that in mind,” John interrupts flatly, holding his phone between himself and Philip in the cold air. They’re huddled just outside the building, beside their car, one of the few places they could find with enough privacy to call Alex without being overheard by well-meaning nurses or, well, Aaron. The air stinks of car fumes and still manages to hold the telltale note of antiseptic, even out here. 

“Seriously, Pops, it’s alright,” Philip adds nervously, wrapping his jacket tighter around himself as the frigid wind bites at any exposed skin, the sky clear and blue and cold above them. 

He’s very quickly wishing that he just stayed quiet. 

_”NO! No, it’s not alright! What the hell?! This is insanity! John!”_ Alex yelps into the phone, voice very quickly gaining hysteria. Philip flinches. 

John sighs, the sound grating and tired, watching the unchanging screen steadily. “Pretty much my reaction too. But, Alex, I actually need your thoughts on this. Just… stay calm, please. What do you think we should do with this?”

_”Stay calm?! Are you JOKING?!_

“Alexander, I’m serious. So Philip got a text from someone who claims to be George Eacker. We don’t even know if this guy’s the real deal or not, to start. Also, we don’t know what Eacker wants, even if it is him trying to contact Pip. There’s a lot of unknowns here. So we just have to take it one step at a time, alright?”

Philip stands miserable and quiet beside John, allowing his father to calm down the panicked man across the line as he watches the sky with shaky silence. There’s too many emotions sprinting through his mind at once, too many thoughts and feelings and shattered attempts at ideas and concepts, too many, too many, _too many._

So, at the moment, he’s just kind of numb. 

It’s never been in the question to just blow this off. Nothing is worth Theo’s life, and although the logical part of Philip argues that Eacker would never be able to break into the hospital or something along those lines to reach the girl, the other logical part of Philip, the part that actually knows Eacker and what he’s capable of, is certain that the guy would find a way if he was determined enough. So, he has to attend this meeting in Weehawken Park, no matter what happens. Or _someone_ is going to have to go, just to keep Eacker in check. No one knows what the guy wants; maybe he just wants to apologize over frozen yogurt or something. Not likely, no, but possible. Philip would be down for that. 

Maybe he should just go alone. Would Eacker really try anything like what happened with Theo again? The chances are less than probable, really, with all the shit the senior’s already dig himself into. And, even if anything does happen, it would only be Philip. Not that he’s self destructive or suicidal or anything, but having to worry about Theo on top of worrying about his dads and anyone else that might attend with him would just be too much. He’s already got enough stress in front of him, he doesn’t need that added anxiety. So going alone is an option to consider.

A terrifying, so-scary-it’s-flipping-paralyzing option, but an option nonetheless. 

“-hilip? Pip, you okay over there?”

He snaps back into the moment at John’s voice, his father watching him expectantly. The phone in his dad’s hand is silent, John apparently having succeeded in calming down Alex and turning to Philip just to find his son zoned out and trapped inside his own mind.

“I’m okay,” Philip says quickly, attempting a brief smile to support his point. “What were you asking?”

“What you want to do, kid.” John studies Philip carefully, watching his reactions, trying to see through his lies. Hazel eyes flicker over his son, expression sincerely concerned.

Philip releases a small breath, avoiding John’s eyes and completely aware of what his father is attempting to do. “Uh, I don’t really know, Dad. I’m sorry, that probably doesn’t help much.”

 _”Son, that’s okay,”_ Alex says gently, tone dropped from hysterically angry and to casually angry. But, now, he’s got a subtle shake to his words as well, which scares Philip more than anything else in this situation. _”I think we’re going to have to alert the authorities, let them figure out if this is legitimate or not, and I don’t think that’s much of a choice, but we want to make sure you’re okay with it regardless.”_

“That’s fine,” Philip says immediately, stuffing his hands in his pockets to hide their trembling. His gaze settles on the phone, releasing a small breath and watching it mist the air in front his face. “That’s fine.”

“Pip?”

Gaze flickering up to meet John’s, Philip moistens his lips nervously, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “What?”

“We’re not going to let him hurt her.” John’s expression is unreadable, face bright in the weak fall sunlight. They’re alone in this little space between two cars, both men leaning back against their old Ford as they speak to Alex. “You know that, don’t you? No matter what happens, you and Theo are both going to be fine.”

Philip lets out a breath, quiet and submissive. Shaking. “I- I know.”

“It’s okay if you don’t, sweetheart. It’s alright if you don’t believe it, but you’ve got to trust us. We’re not going to let anyone else get hurt. I promise. _We_ promise.”

“I get it, Dad, really.”

“But what I’m trying to say is that it’s alright if you don’t too.”

Accepting the free arm wrapped around his shoulder in a show of allowed affection that he hasn’t really exhibited since he was a kid, Philip leans into John, too freaked to be embarrassed. “Okay,” He sighs, voice level but breathing shuddering. He keeps a cap on his emotions, but John’s warm presence is certainly appreciated nonetheless. “Okay.”

Alex’s voice is quiet, tentative, coming softly from the phone still suspended before the two men. _”Pip? You alright, son?”_

“He’s fine. I’ve got him.”

***

It’s incredible how quickly the police assemble a plan. 

And it’s even more incredible how quickly John and Alex shut it down. 

“Are you _insane?!”_ Alex hisses, looking accusingly from one police officer to the next with fire in his eyes. “You want to use a sixteen-year-old boy as _bait_ to quite literally coax a gun wielding madman out into the open?! _No!”_

“I agree with my husband,” John seconds grimly, less excited than Alex but still plenty pissed, hands folded and resting on the table before him. “We’re not going to let Philip be put in danger. This guy could still have a weapon, and we’ve already got one shot kid on our hands at the moment. We really do not need two.”

Philip sits silently between Alex and John at the conference table, looking between them and the officers mutely as he watches the exchange. They alerted the authorities soon after their conversation, and were immediately called into the station to figure out a plan of action. Unfortunately and quite clearly, this particular plan of action isn’t going over well. 

“Of course we understand that, sir,” one officer immediately soothes, leaning forward to get a more personal feel to the situation. Alex all but growls, arms crossed over his chest, expression daring the officer to get any closer to his family. The officer casually pulls back with a nervous breath of a chuckle. “But, you must understand in turn that Philip would be absolutely, perfectly safe in this situation. If Eacker did happen to have a gun or similar weapon on him, and if he happened to raise that against Philip, he’d be taken down by the disguised officers before he’d be able to take off the safety. Philip’ll be absolutely safe.”

“Wait a sec, back up,” John says flatly, watching the officers warily, yet still composed. “Your little foolproof plan of outshooting the insane gunman is great and all, but why is it even necessary? Why do we have to risk Philip at all?” 

Philip, feeling quite like he’s watching a fast paced tennis match, looks at the officers expectantly to await their response. 

The other officer, an older man compared to the young thing next to him, then leans forward into the conversation, lined face tired. Officer Franklin has made a reappearance. “Again, we ain’t risking anything,” he repeats, voice firm and expression genuine. “But, as for why it’s necessary, think about George Eacker’s place in this for just a second. A criminal on the run, likely prepared for just ‘bout anything. If he sees a bunch of cops milling around, he’s going to run. If he sees Philip, seemingly alone in the park just like he wanted, then he’ll approach him, come out into the open so that we can show ourselves and arrest him faster than he’ll be ready for. So, Philip will be used to pull him out where we can see him, yeah, but he’ll be perfectly safe and perfectly fine. No matter what goes down, Philip will be completely protected.”

“Is it worth the risk? Are the risks small enough that putting our son in potential danger- and despite what you say I know this is still considered potential danger- outweighs the possibility of being able to bring Eacker in for good?” John studies the officers carefully, hands still clasped in front of him, balancing his elbows on the edge of the table.

“Of course, sir.” The response is fast and reassuring, confirming. 

Although Alex’s outward appearance hasn’t changed, Philip can see the difference in his expression, in his eyes. _He’s softening._

“I see,” he says flatly. “So, just say that we do go with this plan. Would I be able to go with the rest of you?”

“Would Eacker recognize you, if he would to catch a glimpse of you?” Franklin retorts, one graying eyebrow raising slightly. 

Alex looks to Philip for confirmation, the first time anyone’s acknowledged him in this conversation. “Would he?” the man asks, and Philip shakes his head. He doesn’t trust himself to speak.

Turning back to the officers with a triumphant expression, Alex crosses his arms over his chest smugly, much to John’s exasperation at his husband’s childishness. “The kid has spoken. Eacker won’t recognize me.”

“Then as long as you stay out of the way, you should be fine to come along. John, are ya alright with this?” the older officer asks, looking at the mentioned man pointedly. His blue eyes are warm in the harsh yet dim lights of the conference room. 

John nods immediately, knowing that someone’s got to be home for Angie and okay with it being him. “That’s fine.”

The younger officer then ventures back into the conversation with a tentative air, looking from John to Alex carefully and as if he’s prepared to be shoved out of the conversation again at any moment. Alex has that effect on people. “So . . . is the plan cleared by you?” he asks cautiously, gaze flickering from John to Alex, back and forth with a nervous, careful mien.

Just as Alex’s lips part to voice his reluctant consent, the older officer interrupts, cutting off the lot of them at once. 

“Wait just a moment.” 

Franklin’s gaze flickers to Philip, the forgotten player in this game who just happens to also be the object. Philip stares back, scared yet firm. “Boy, are ya alright with this? You would be safe, of course, but your opinion is also important here, and we don’t want you being forced into anything ya don’t wanna do.” The officer’s expression is sincere.

Philip forces himself to take a breath, the entire room quiet as they await his response. But then a strange determination comes over his face, and he nods curtly, gaze firm in the dim lights of the conference room. “I’m in.”

“Brilliant.”

***

“Nervous?”

“Nah. Just exhausted- I think I forgot just how damn early dawn is.”

“I feel you.”

The two sit side by side in Alex’s car, driving through the dark of extremely early morning as they make their way to the police department so that they can all head to Weehawken together. The sky is pitch black and the streets empty, the only lights coming from Alex’s headlights and the occasional streetlight they pass, washing over the road before them with freezing light as they go on their way. The glow from the headlights illuminate the trees and mailboxes lining the road for just a split second before the figures rush past in a blur of black and grey and white and midnight blue, and the car steers along the empty paths with winding precision. The light strikes the road, the trees, in the strangest, most eerily way, the streets Philip’s known since he was a child looking hauntingly unfamiliar in the cold darkness.

Philip sits in jeans and a sweatshirt, utterly casual to appear as normal as usual. Although they need to be at the park just before seven (as close to dawn as they can manage), it’s only four-thirty now; they need time to prepare, to plan, to perform. So Philip is as ready as he can be right now, a strange feeling of nerves, dread and an odd sense of unsettled excitement from all the build up to this situation deep within him. His pulls a nervous hand through his hair, the curls pulled back in a half-up ponytail in an attempt to leave some hair down with the intention of conserving body heat in the cold air of an early October morning. Alex, on the other hand, will be posing as an early morning jogger, and is wearing the sort of sweats that one might find an actual early morning jogger wearing and a ponytail at the back of his head. He looks uncomfortable and nervous, hands braced against the steering wheel in the silence of the car and left leg bouncing almost imperceptibly. Philip stares out the window, watching the dark surroundings race past, barely able to tell one tree from the other while Alex gives up on conversation, instead just settling into the quiet. 

No one knows about this. Not Georges, not Mattie, not Theo or Frances or even Angie. The only people in on the plan are Aaron, John, Alex and Philip himself, in order to keep everything classified and quiet. Angie left for a sleepover last night and won’t be home until eleven at the earliest; Philip has a silent, unspoken hope that he’ll be home before she even opens her eyes. Everything’s going to be fine, he knows this. Everything will be fine. 

_But what if it’s not?_

_Shh, negative cliche voice. Everything’s gonna be okay. Really._

_Really._

***

They say that times flies when you’re having fun, but Philip has an alternate theory. Time flies when you’re inwardly freaking out about something. His evidence? He’s pretty sure the past few hours took minutes.

And now he’s here, at Weehawken, standing alone in the dark park with disguised cops milling around him, tugging his sweatshirt tighter around him in an attempt to warm himself with his hands buried deep in his pockets. 

The darkness is everywhere, literally everywhere. The sun has yet to make an appearance, putting a blanket of black and midnight blue over the nearly abandoned park, the few streetlights dotted around the space allowing flashes of white here and there, making the usually familiar structures of things like playground equipment and old oak trees look unsettlingly sinister. Philip catches barely noticeable flashes of movement out of the corner of his eye here and there, alerting him of the presence of the disguised police officers placed around the park, and there’s a tiny speaker hidden in his right ear, giving him a direct link to Officer Franklin and allowing him to both speak to and hear the other man when need be. Every few minutes, Franklin checks in, whispering a few words into the mic to see what’s going on just for Philip to breathe a few words of no news back, the officer watching discreetly but carefully from his hidden place pacing around the park, posing as a dog walker, walking beside another officer with her K9 dog between them. 

But Philip’s still alone. At least, it certainly feels that way, standing in the middle of an almost empty park with no other noticeable human being in sight. Yep, pretty damn alone. 

There’s a breeze, a cold breeze, hitting his exposed face and neck with a biting sensation that just makes Philip want to be anywhere but here. Optimally somewhere warmer, and maybe safer. Because, right now, he’s not feeling either one particularly. The cold settles deep into his bones, burrowing down to his core in a display that is partly from the actual temperature and partly from the emotions flooding through him again and again, forcing a shake into his hands and a tremble into his knees. 

He feels awkward and uncomfortable yet strangely stirred up, psyched up for what he knows is to come. Shifting feet restlessly in his place near the middle of the park, the adrenaline rushes through him like ice in his veins, his mind speeding along thought processes and through ideas faster than he wants without his conscious consent. Eacker still hasn’t shown up yet, there’s been so sign of him since they arrived about ten minutes ago. Although Philip would question if Eacker caught on and got scared away, the cops are so well hidden that he knows it’s impossible. So, in the meantime, Philip’s just trying to keep himself as calm as possible. 

He’s in the middle of mentally talking himself down from yet another spike of panic when George Eacker appears. 

The senior is just a figure at first, a suggestion of a man hovering near the edge of the darkness. But then he approaches, slowly at first and then quicker, and Philip has no doubt of who it is. His stride is long and relaxed, his hands hanging casually in his pockets. He looks terrible, honestly, in borrowed clothes and an unshaven face, but the twitch of a smile still quirking at the corner of his mouth as he grows closer and closer let’s Philip know that his spirit is far from as changed as his appearance. _Well, that’s creepy as hell._

 _”That him?”_ the speaker in his ear whispers, Franklin’s voice crackling into Philip’s mind with a sudden intensity it had simply been lacking before. Business mode, Philip supposes. 

“Yes,” he breathes back, the sound so soft that Eacker would be physically unable to hear it. 

_”Alright. Give us half a minute more, yeah? Let him get just a bit closer, so that we can surround him without a problem. You’re safe, Philip, I promise ya.”_

Philip doesn’t respond, standing eerily still as Eacker comes closer and closer. Neither speak, neither call out to each other, Philip just holds his breath and keeps up a conscious stream of reassuring thoughts in his mind, nearly vibrating with the tension quite literally choking the air.

Gulping, Philip watches Eacker grow closer with a growing dread. He’s suddenly conscious of every snap of every twig under Eacker’s feet, every wisp of wind swirling in the quickly narrowing space between them, every shift of breath and every footstep and every barely visible shiver that runs down his body, shaking with the stress and build up. Feeling hyperactive and tense and far too much like a sitting duck, Philip watches Eacker warily, waiting and waiting for Franklin to give the command over his comm to take him in. As the senior draws closer and closer, each detail about him is distinguishable, making Philip feel sick with memories from the last time he saw the guy. 

Eacker’s mouth opens, just barely, to begin speaking. 

_Just a moment longer. Come on, just one more moment._

_”Now.”_

“HANDS UP, YOU ARE UNDER ARREST!”

Like a switch is flipped, Eacker and Philip are suddenly hit by bright, stunning beams of light from every direction, Eacker freezing in the overwhelming shouts of police officers screaming his rights at him and guns pointed at his head, hands flying up on instinct as Franklin moves past Philip with his gun determinedly trained on Eacker. Every disguised cop is suddenly circling around Eacker, not allowing any concept of escape or avoidance. It’s amazing how quickly they gather together, booming voices cascading over the silent park and harsh lights lighting up the darkness in a brutally honest display of exactly what’s happening. 

Philip, on the other hand, is shaking violently with relief, trying to catch his breath after what was most likely the most stressful situation he has ever been in, second only to the day Theo was shot. The relief coursing through him is nearly painful, thoughts bombarding his overwhelmed mind in every direction, screaming he’s safe, Eacker’s finally contained, school’s going to start up again, no one was hurt in the process, and _everything’s okay._ It’s the first time in nearly five days that he’s been able to know that everything’s truly alright or soon to be alright, and the alleviation of the impossibly stressful situation crashing over him and over him with so much force it makes him go weak in the knees, faintly hysterical laughter escaping him in the intense feelings racing through him.

He turns to find Alex, a watery smile on his face and a sense of stunned disbelief at his very core, finally feeling free.

That’s when Eacker yanks the gun out from under his collar.

That’s when the gunshot cracks through the air.

That’s when the crimson stain beings rapidly spreading across Philip’s abdomen, the kid stumbling back several steps upon impact, the blood draining out of his face instantly. 

And that’s when Philip hits the ground.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya!!
> 
> So, I just want to apologize for that cliffhanger real fast... I couldn’t freaking resist. Forgive me?
> 
> WARNINGS: Aftermath of gun violence (duh), blood, and mental breakdown. Nothing too heavy but it’s there. 
> 
> Beta’d by Jaysong and next chapter Monday!! Enjoy!

Getting shot is a curious thing. 

There’s a blur of motion, of sound and light and indistinguishable words, that comes a split instant after the gunshot. There’s a staggering impact and high-speed pressure, the feeling of stumbling and collapsing down to fall on something hard, caught in the edges of the intense flashlight beams, dim but strong enough to capture the moment like some type of morbid display visible to the world itself. But then the world seems to stop in absolute silence and absolutely stillness, for just a single, almost puzzling moment. Just a split moment, likely less than a second, where the chaos surrounding Philip seems to fade away, the shouts surrounding him dropping off to staggering quiet like a radio tuning into soft, nearly silent static as the world freezes. 

For that moment, Philip finds himself on the ground with the frosted grass flattened beneath him, feeling the breath enter and leave him slowly, completely unsure of what’s just happened. He doesn’t really remember falling to this position; if he does at all, it was a short, fast movement, hard and abrupt and involuntary. But now the dark, clouded sky above goes eerily still, nothing left in this world but the frozen ground and the shallow, gasping breaths escaping him.

The coldness of the ground sleeps into his jeans, forcing a deep chill into the worn denim, and Philip is instantly aware of just how cold he really is. But he’s not shivering, not moving at all. A sense of numbness washes over his midsection, unfeeling and strange, for a few long seconds, and in a far off way Philip has to wonder why he’s just sitting here, why he’s not even attempting to get out of the way, why he’s on the ground and why he’s so numb yet so cold and why everything is taking so damn long to process. He blinks up at the sky, the stars covered by clouds (a storm must be coming, Philip notes, no wonder they still haven’t seen the sun) and his hair tangles in the frozen grass. _What the hell happened?_

But it’s then that a sudden feeling of warmth pools just about his abdomen, wet and hot and odd. Right about the same time, the numbness begins to subside, slowly but surely, replaced with a quickly growing, quickly burning hurt. Philip’s cold hand slowly finds his way to the sensation with a subdued sense of curious puzzlement, resting on his stomach for just a moment, taking in the notable increase of pain the action causes and the wet stickiness suddenly coating his fingers. 

Frowning in confusion and feeling as if time is inching by millisecond by millisecond, the world still seemingly frozen around him, Philip brings his hand to his eyes, strangely fuzzy mind working to keep up with everything that’s going on. 

Red. 

Even in the limited lighting, even under the clouded, dark sky, Philip can clearly see his hand is red, observing the different angles in the dim moonlight as the shiny liquid catches and reflects the beams of the flashlights, strangely luminescent yet so dark it’s nearly black.

And that’s when the scattered pieces of the puzzle snap together with instant precision. The resounding sound of a gunshot, the warm, red wetness soaking his sweatshirt, the way the world is so cold and blurry at the edges, the confusion plaguing his mind and his inability to remember what’s happened in these past few minutes all rush together to form the picture that Philip’s been missing all along, an instant thought emerging from the fuzzy cloudiness that is his mind with staggering clarity. 

_Holy shit. I just got shot._

And then there’s a scream, a terrified, hoarse scream that shatters Philip’s quiet world and replaces it with chaos and utter panic. 

Like a switch is flipped, Philip is suddenly surrounded by sound and motion and light. While he was caught in the very edges of the beams centered on Eacker earlier, now several more flashlights focus directly on him, causing him to flinch in the sudden light and try to shield his eyes with his already raised hand. Almost immediately, his hand is pressed down to his side instead by an unknown figure abruptly kneeling at his side, a firm, unidentifiable voice instructing him not to move as the world begins to dissolve into confusion and fast paced movement. It’s sudden and unexpected when there’s suddenly something pressing down on his wound impossibly hard, and he hisses through his teeth, trying to move away from the pain on instinct and finding himself unable to do so. His clouded mind spins, understanding what’s happened but still not understanding much else, frantically searching for Eacker among the insanity of his surroundings while simultaneously looking for Alex or Franklin or anyone or anything that might resemble the slightest sense of familiarity or comfort. But no, his world is a blur of flashlights and senseless instructions and confusion and pain, the background burning hiking up to excruciating in seconds and only furthering his inability to think.

_It’s better me than her._

True. 

Philip isn’t sure where the thought comes from, but it’s enough for him to somewhat withdrawal from the situation, recentering his fragmented thoughts to something with a bit more structure. If he hadn’t gone to the park today, Eacker would have hurt Theo instead. And that’s enough to make Philip strangely thankful for this situation, thankful that it was at least him and not someone else, someone he cares far too much about to lose. 

Even in the middle of this, of this montage of frantic distress and confusion and red and black and light, Philip finds himself fading from the painful, panicked situation and instead retreating into his own head, instead allowing his mind to wander to far more important matters. He thinks of Theo. Of John, of Alex, of Georges and Mattie and Aaron and Eliza and Susan and Lafayette and Hercules and Maria and every other last person that makes up his life, that make this terrible world into a beautiful place even for just an instant. 

_I’m not done._

The thought appears in his mind suddenly at first, a fleeting idea that comes with startling clarity, but within seconds it’s settled down in the depths of Philip’s conscious. It seems to plant itself in Philip’s mind, the roots slowly growing out from the idea, bleeding determination and stubborn sense of fierce that Philip clings to like a lifeline. Branches extend from the idea, shaping it and extending it to grow from a thought into a concept, a plan, a hope.

_I’m not done._

There’s too much in this world, both things good and bad, that Philip hasn’t yet even had a chance to encounter. So many things he wants to try, wants to experience, wants to _live._ He can’t leave, not now, not _yet!_

It’s at that moment, crumpled to the ground, surrounded by shouting officers, staring at the dark sky with an openly bleeding wound and an increasing threat of losing consciousness at any given moment, that Philip makes a promise to his own conscious, to the people that make him up, to life itself. 

_I’m not done._

A promise, breathed into the dark of night, frosting the cold air as a whisper of commitment. The words so soft they’re heard by no one but the speaker, more a thought than a statement. 

A simple promise that holds so little yet so much, a nearly silent exhalation that seems to hover in the air long after it’s breathed, a whisper that swirls around the world slowly, gracefully, gentle and soft and so tantalizingly just out of reach. 

_I’m not done._

A promise that is not to be broken.

***

It’s Alex that screams. 

He doesn’t know where it comes from, he can’t remember making a noise that like for as long as he’s lived. He can’t even remember hearing a noise like that before, so animalistic and hoarse and _terrified,  
_ ripping from his throat with agonized fear. It leaves him breathless and shaking, trembling in the darkness.

But he can’t find it in himself to care, because _his son was just hit._

It seems that thing just _stops_ for a split instant after the gunshot, after Philip is thrown off his feet by the impact, after the unimaginable happens. It’s if the world slows, everyone watching Philip fall to the ground as if in slow motion, hearing his sudden, sharp yelp of pain resound through their minds, Eacker’s gun shaking in his outstretched right hand as he heaves for breath and Alex watching this all with eyes blown wide, lips parted and expression shocked into stillness. Then there’s more gunshots going off and the officers are rushing to Philip and Alex is _screaming_ and it’s hell on earth. 

_My son._

The world seems to pass in random bursts, like time will be racing one second and creeping along the next. Alex watches the policemen running to Philip as he remains frozen and shaking, someone radioing in an ambulance as the officers shout to each other and to Philip, trying to keep him awake and alert and _alive_ until the ambulance arrives. Eacker is taken down by a few officers, a bullet finding its way to his shoulder as the man’s gun drops to the ground- the wound won’t kill him, just take him out of commission so that the officers can bring him in. So much is going on at once, so many voices and so many sharp lights and so much movement and so much _happening_ that Alex is the single stationary, silent figure in a sea of sound and sensation. 

Because Alex can only focus on his kid and the way his kid’s blood is soaking the earth, knowing he should be by his side but simply finding himself unable to move. 

But then, somehow, Alex hears Philip’s voice, weak and confused and scared and pained yet holding a slight note of humor, coming from the center of the huddle of officers surrounding him as he says something to one of the police officers (the man can’t imagine how he’s even awake at the moment, let alone attempting to make conversation or what almost seems like a joke), and Alex is walking. 

For just a moment, Franklin appears in the center of his vision, the lights throwing strange shadows across his face. He’s tentative yet unmoving, expression firm yet eyes tormented. “Listen, Alexander, you’ve got to let them help him-“

Alex moves to brush past him, eyes wet but determined. His hands shake as his mind spins, moving towards the lights surrounding his son with an almost autopilot like purpose, pushing his emotions down with a resigned sense of quiet. He can break later _(he’ll have to break later)_ but now is not the time. “Get out of my way,” he mutters, just to be held back gently by Franklin.

“I’m serious, Alex-“

He pulls from the officer’s grip immediately, continuing on almost robotically. His eyes are dark and shadowed and red and focused only on Philip, dark hair loosening and falling in his face, posture stiff and stoic. ”John and I will deal with you later. Right now, _move.”_

“Alexander-“

“No.”

And Franklin lets him pass. 

Alex continues on.

***

The heavens open up while Alex and Philip are in the ambulance. 

It’s a background observation, a quiet note in the midst of the whirl of movement happening in the back of the vehicle. Alex perched at Philip’s side, clutching his son’s hand in his own as he watches the paramedics spin around in calculated chaos with a sense of such utter helplessness, unable to do anything but sit, and watch, and simply be present. But, even as a paramedic fixes an oxygen mask over Philip’s mouth and nose, even as a different one secures the I.V. in the kid’s arm, even as yet another shouts out vitals and instructions to her colleagues, Alex silently notices the quiet patter of raindrops bouncing against the roof of the ambulance, soft and gentle yet gaining intensity as the ambulance races through the city.

Alex’s gaze shifts back down to Philip from where he was formerly staring at the ceiling and listening to the rain, squeezing his son’s hand helplessly again as Philip drifts farther and farther away from the situation he just so happens to be in the middle of, hazel eyes rolling and breathing shallow. Alex takes in the way Philip’s hair fans out across the gurney, a piece of material still pressed firmly over the gunshot wound by one of the paramedics, the drip slowly diffusing a drug into Pip’s bloodstream, the less-than-steady beeping detailing the background droning of sharp, clinical voices and fast instructions, the rain still striking the roof of the ambulance softly, Alex silent and stoic and still. 

_Look at where we are._

At the moment, Alex is still firmly beating his emotions into submission, not allowing himself to even process this. There will be time for that later. There will be time for everything later. Right now, he just needs to sit in this ambulance with his injured son and listen to the rain and simply be present, and that’s all he really can do.

_Look at where we started._

They’re going to figure this one out together. 

_The fact that you’re alive is a miracle._

That’s one of the few things Alex is sure of. 

_Just stay alive, that would be enough._

That, and one more thing.

_You don’t deserve this, Philip._

_You never deserved this._

***

By the time John receives the call, it’s pouring outside, the world lightening only slightly under the mask of the storm outside the kitchen window as John sits at the kitchen table in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, sipping coffee calmly. He watches the raindrops fall against the window again and again and again, a constant, steady pattern of tiny pings against the glass. The trees bend slightly in the wind, leaves shuddering and water streaming off branches, and the wet pavement of the road shines silver in the darkness of the landscape. Meanwhile, John just sits in his kitchen, the mug in his hands gradually cooling even as he methodically sips the bitter liquid at least occasionally, watching the rain and regularly reminding himself that Alex is likely just running behind, that nothing went wrong, that there’s no reason to stress.

Angie asked if she could stay longer at her friends house earlier, which John immediately approved. She won’t have to know about any of this until it’s over, until every possible threat is neutralized and every possible outcome is either confirmed or denied. Although Philip doesn’t share any actual DNA with Alex, much like John doesn’t share any with Angie, Alex, Angie and Philip all have the same streak of anxiety that hits at the worst times. Angie’s is the worst, the most demanding of attention and careful planning, so John takes care to keep her wellbeing in mind. Angie knowing about the situation beforehand would have done literally nothing but stress her out. She’s only 14, after all- allow her to live her life without having to worry about shootings and insane gunmans and messed up high school seniors. She can stress about that in a couple of years. 

John is still complementing this issue, still watching the rain half mindedly out the window, when his phone begins ringing on the table, rattling his coffee and singing out an outdated ringtone in a plain demand for attention. 

Glancing at the screen, John lets out a sigh of relief. _Alex. Finally._ He takes another sip of his coffee as he answers the call, bringing the phone to his ear with a “Hey, hon, what took you so long?”

It’s the second that Alex doesn’t retort with an immediate, almost unbearingly smartass response that John knows something is wrong.

“Alexander? Is everything okay?” he continues promptingly, setting his coffee back down on the table but not releasing the mug, focusing on the phone at his ear with a sudden, subdued sense of wariness. 

“John, I’m at Northwest.”

With those few words, John freezes. 

He gulps, grip tightening on the handle of the mug. Immediately, his mind tries to leap to conclusions, but he quiets his worried thoughts immediately, trying to consider the possibilities before he lets himself react. “To visit Theo, I hope?”

“No, love.”

John takes a measured breath, sitting back in his chair as his voice takes on an intense edge, subtly fearful but steady.

“What happened, Alexander?”

There’s a sigh, trembling and drawn out, and for the first time, John realizes just how close to breaking apart Alex is. No wonder his voice is so unemotional, so stoic; it’s a defense mechanism. 

_Defensive against what?_

“Everything went to plan,” Alex starts quietly, voice soft and tentative over the line. “Philip lead Eacker into the open, the officers surrounded, got some guns pointed at the guy, and everything went to plan.”

Listening silently, John’s unfocused gaze still settled on the window across the room. There’s a growing sense of fear uncurling in his stomach, slowly blooming out with cold petals of dread throughout his veins. He’s suddenly feeling terribly cold even in the warmth of the empty kitchen. “Everything went to plan…?” he prompts flatly when Alex doesn’t continue.

“Until it didn’t,” Alex quietly finishes. “Eacker pulled a gun from his collar before anyone was ready for it, and he fired. Within a few seconds, an officer shot Eacker down in the shoulder, and they were able to arrest him. The wound isn’t fatal; he’ll be fine, but he’s contained now and we don’t have to worry about him anymore, so that’ good.”

“But Eacker managed to fire first.”

“Yes, he did.”

John blows out a breath. “Who did he hit?” His voice is so soft it’s barely audible, seeing the hole in the story, seeing precisely what Alex is avoiding. 

Alex fails to respond. 

Realizing exactly what happened, realizing exactly what’s going on but praying that he’s somehow wrong, that there’s something he’s missing, John’s voice rises, low but intense, demanding with suppressed panic as his stoic, reassured front begins to weaken. “Who did he hit, Alex?”

“Philip. He hit Philip, John.”

The room spins, and John can’t speak. 

He expected this, almost prepared himself for it in the painful hesitation that had come before the blunt statement. But the simple confirmation drives another nail into the coffin containing John’s self control, and now he struggles for breath. But then his emotions effectively shut down before they can crush him in return in a nearly instinctive but very welcome reaction to the stress, just like all the times he’s had to save a life while on the job, all the times he’s had to deal with a hysterical family member, all the times he’s had to make himself simply unable to be reached by the thoughts that threaten to break him. 

Developing something like tunnel vision for the mind, he takes a small breath, listening to Alex’s silence across the line. 

“You said you’re at Northwest?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be there within ten minutes.”

“John-“

The call’s been ended before Alex is even able to complete his husband’s name, John throwing his phone back down to the table as he rushes for his coat and shoes, thinking only of what he needs to do at this very moment and not allowing himself to think of much of anything else. _Now is not the time to break._

Within seconds, he’s slid his phone into his pocket and shrugged on his coat, leaving his coffee still sitting on the table as he flicks off the one light he had turned off and hurries to the door, leaving the dark house behind for the dark, wet world just outside. 

He’s soaked nearly instantly but gives the matter less than a thought, instead walking briskly to the garage, blinking raindrops out of his eyes and pushing the panicked thoughts out of his mind. He types the garage code in with practiced, rapid fingers, standing in the rain and watching the garage door open slowly with a stretched sense of stoic calm. _Don’t think._

In an incredibly cruel twist of fate, that’s when John remembers his car is in the shop. The garage is empty. 

It was acting up the day before and he’s off work today; he had no need for a car until this situation came along, and Alex took his own car with Philip this morning. 

For a moment, John just stands in front of the empty garage, standing in the rain and attempting to process the fact that he’s essentially trapped here, away from his son, away from his husband, away from everything that matters right now. His technique of keeping his panic at bay through motion and pushing away worried is now completely screwed, John forced into just standing on the driveway, forced into being stationary and trapped as his stoic front falls to the ground, staring into the empty garage as his chest suddenly tightens, hands shaking as he struggles for breath. 

John shatters. 

The thoughts he’s been running away from ever since he accepted that phone call finally catch him, crashing into him over and over with terrible, terrible ideas that he has no way of disproving. _He can die, he will die, gunshot victims, mortality rates, odds not in our favor, Alex was panicking, don’t know Philip’s condition, don’t know, don’t know, DON’T KNOW._ With a choked sob, John presses a trembling hand to his mouth, sinking to the ground in the pouring rain as his firmly emotional exterior breaks down. He crouches on the cold pavement of his driveway, the sky black and the world grey as the storm only worsens, tears mixing with the rain streaming down his face as sobs shake his body, great, rattling sobs that John can’t stop if he tries. 

_He’s so young, he’s so inexperienced, he’s so good, why did it have to be him, why my son…_

He holds one hand over his mouth, trying to muffle the hoarse sobs. There’s such a sense of powerless weakness in his chest that John feels like it can break him apart at any moment, falling from his crouch to his knees and not caring that the water pooled there soaks through the thin material of his pants almost immediately, eyes red and breathing stuttering and giving less than a damn about al of it. 

John’s hair was almost immediately soaked the instant he walked out of the house, and now it drips steadily onto the ground from the angle his head is bowed at, the water forcing a deep chill into him that only makes him sob harder. Pulling his coat tighter around him as if the thin, drenched fabric can somehow manage to keep his fragmented pieces together, John simply kneels in the rain and get hit again and again by the horrible, terrified thoughts crashing over him like a wave.

_We can’t lose him._

His left hand finds its way to the cold pavement while the right continues to hold his coat closed, steadying and holding to the ground like a lifeline. But even the firm, unmoving touch brings nearly no comfort, his phone buzzing with calls from Alex in his pocket and terrible, ugly sobs still ripping their way out of him, uncontrollable. His mind chases itself in circles, a never ending thought process of _calm down_ paired with the panicked, horrified ideas that John just can’t escape, offering no solace, no comfort, no familiarity and no relief. 

There’s just panic, and dread, and worry, and _fear._

There was once a time, a couple years ago, that a Schuyler family reunion was held and Alex was invited. He went to high school with Eliza and Angelica, and their family wanted to see him again, so naturally Alex agreed wholeheartedly to attend and insisted on dragging John along with him. Alex had a grand old time with the entire family he seemed to know incredible well, but John chose to go with a more subtle approach, standing against a wall with a beer in hand as he awkwardly watched the reunion without interacting directly with much of anyone. Of course, it wasn’t long before Angelica found him as well, leaning against the wall beside him with a generous glass of wine with her that certainly wasn’t her first as she quietly muttered _there is suffering too terrible to name_ with a glint of humor in her eyes, smiling dryly up at John with understanding yet wry mirth. 

Although John had found the comment amusing at the time, he’s never found it more accurate than at this moment, so different than the sarcastic situation it came to life in. _There is suffering too terrible to name._ John cannot put a name to what’s he’s feeling right now, what’s going through his mind with no mercy. It’s painful and terrible and so, so undetermined, leaving John sitting in the pouring down rain and praying that the storm hides the sound of his sobs. 

John is a stoic man. But this is simply too much. 

_Too much._

And as John shatters into a million pieces in the driveway, and Alex huddles in a silent waiting room with his phone still clutched in his hand, and as an unconscious Philip is rushed into immediately surgery, the storm only seems to worsen around them in a cruel act of irony, dark and grey and threatening.

_There is suffering too terrible to name._

_Hell yes there is, because the damn unimaginable has happened._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh... angst... fun...
> 
> See you guys Monday and have a really great week!! Feel free to leave any feedback you have or chat with me in the comments, whatever works. Thanks for reading!!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex reviews his phone camera roll and thinks back to some memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you guys I’d be back. 
> 
> Happy 2018!!! I thank you all again for the support and forgiveness I’ve received for taking a break (I really, really needed that) and now If There’s a Reason is back in swing and I am ready to go. Let’s do this. 
> 
> This chapter is ridiculously long to make up for what I’ve missed, so enjoy. Memories are in italics and past tense in this chapter, just so you know what’s going on. Warnings for deaths in memories.
> 
> Beta’d by Jaysong, next chapter Monday and enjoy!!

Time passes strangely in waiting rooms. 

It appears to go by terribly quickly and extremely slowly at the same time, minutes fading into hours while hours break into minutes. It’s as if you glance at your phone once at 11:17, but just when you think it’s been a decently long amount of time since you’ve since last checked, it turns out to only be 11:20. But, on the other hand, you may think that it’s just past noon simply to find out that no, it’s 2 pm, and you just zoned out for two hours. Time passes strangely in waiting rooms, but for Alex, it passes in a manner that is just painstakingly quiet.

There’s been no news. Philip’s in surgery. Aaron has been warned of what’s happened. A million things have happened and a million more are happening yet there’s still no news. Alex doesn’t know what to feel.

Both John and Alex are on their phones, sitting side by side in the startlingly familiar chairs in the nearly empty surgery waiting room. John’s been making more calls than Alex can count, making arrangements, alerting those close to them of what’s happened and what’s happening next. Until now, his voice has been clinical and informational. But now, as he’s speaking to Eliza, it drops its edge. 

“I’ll keep you updated, of course,” he says, tone slowly losing it’s shield and revealing the exhausted, anxious man underneath as he speaks. Phone forever held against his ear, the fingers on his free hand drum against the armrest, restless and stressed. His gaze settles on his lap. “Eliza, I hate to ask this of you, but if you could just take Angie for a few days, until we figure out what’s going on… oh, thank god. Are you sure it wouldn’t be a problem- alright, if you’re positive, I’ll drop her off with you guys in a few hours. Thank you, Eliza, I don’t know what we would have done without you.”

Meanwhile, Alex is slouched in his seat, hunched over his phone but with absolutely nothing to do. He’s already responded to nearly all the emails he needs to, he has almost all the work he’s missing caught up. Even if he did have something work related to do, he’s just not in the mood at the moment, in any way, shape or form. His mind is restless yet blank, too numb to feel emotion but too keyed up to do nothing. It’s a vicious cycle. 

That’s how he finds himself clicking through his phone’s camera roll. 

Although he hasn’t had this phone all that long, many of the old pictures taken before the smartphone age have been uploaded to his gallery, so Alex can start at the beginning. He isn’t entirely sure why he’s doing this. Surely the photos, the memories, will only make the situation worse for him. But, really, it’s something to do, and Alex’s gaze has already settled on one of the earliest pictures. It was taken the night John and Alex first met. 

In the image, John, Alex, Hercules and Lafayette stand side by side in the midst of a crowd, the room dark but multi colored, bright lights casting strange yet exciting shadows across their faces. The four men are in varying poses with varying expressions, Lafayette’s head thrown back in an open-mouthed laugh, Hercules animatedly mid-sentence with a red solo cup in hand, and John’s hand on Alex’s shoulder, grinning in the direction of the camera while Alex grins in the direction of John. 

***

_”Anyone want more punch?”_

_“Hell yes, man!”_

_Hercules let out a laugh at that, roughly grabbing the solo cup from Alex’s hand and beginning to weave through the dozens to get a refill. Across the room sat a long fold out table sporting a bright red, plastic tablecloth, holding bowls of chips and pretzels and, most importantly, a large bowl of extremely spiked punch. A mix of several unidentifiable sodas and juices, it probably held ten times the alcohol any of the high school kids swarming around the house had ever touched in their lives. So, naturally, everyone was either drunk or well on their way to being drunk, which added a bit of an interesting flair to Thomas Jefferson’s holiday party._

_With Hercules leaving for more punch and Lafayette having joyfully disappeared several minutes prior into the masses of students, Alex soon found himself alone in the middle of the crowd. Some kids danced, rocking out to the upbeat Christmas tunes practically shaking the house, but Alex stood uncomfortable and still. He knew nearly no one at this party, being the awkward new kid with approximately two friends in this state, and now the said two friends had momentarily abandoned him. How fun for him._

_“Hey.”_

_Alex jumped slightly at the hand on his shoulder, turning to see a casually smiling boy standing beside him. His hair was loose and curly, tumbling down to his shoulders in waves, and a half-empty red solo cup rested in his free hand, pulling in to the busy ugly Christmas sweater he was wearing._

_“Sorry to startle you, but you looked a little loss,” the boy continued, his words smooth and holding a hint of a Southern accent. Alex was unsure if the soft lilt was around permanently or only under the influence of alcohol. He took his hand off Alex’s shoulder to instead offer it in introduction, easy smile still on his face. “I’m John. John Laurens in full.”_

_Now smiling himself, Alex shook the boy’s hand. “Alex Hamilton.”_

***

Alex now smirks at the memory, the current events momentarily forgotten as he continues to scroll through his camera roll. The next picture that catches his eye is one of him and John with Eliza, all three of them beaming with Eliza holding up a positive pregnancy test for the world to see. John has an arm slung over her shoulders, his grin wide and ecstatic, while Alex’s arm wraps around Eliza’s waist, looking excited but vaguely stunned. 

Breathing a chuckle at the image, Alex fondly smiles at the memory of that day. But it’s the shocked expressions on all their faces that brings back the memory of when they asked Eliza to be their surrogate, the same day that started it all.

***

_”Yes. Definitely yes. I’m in.”_

_”Eliza, really, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” John stressed, folding his hands upon the table in front of him and leaning forward slightly. He and Alex sat on one side of their kitchen table, Eliza on the other, so that the two were somewhat facing off. “Don’t let us make you feel pressured to agree. We know how big this is, and if you just don’t feel comfortable, please just tell us-“_

_“John, seriously, shush,” Eliza quieted him good-naturedly, amusement momentarily overcoming her excitement. But, less than a second later, the excitement trumped yet again as another smile made it’s way onto her face. “I want to do this. I really, really want to do this.”_

_Alex frowned slightly, encouraged by Eliza’s enthusiasm but not getting too excited himself just yet. “Wait up a sec, Liza,” he cautiously said, watching her expression carefully. “John wasn’t kidding when he said it would be big. You’d be carrying a baby that’s half your DNA for nine months just to give it up to us when it’s born, no custody or parental ownership given to you whatsoever. You’d be carrying our kid, Eliza. It’s understandable if this would be too much for you.”_

_Eliza sat back in her chair, a soft, excited smile making it’s way across her face even now. “I know, and I get all of that, and of course I have some questions, but I’m pretty sure about this.” She looked down at the table, appearing disbelieving but completely certain in her decision. “God, a chance to give you guys a kid? Of course I want to do this. You guys know I’m a lesbian, so unless I use a sperm donor or something, I don’t think I’ll ever have the chance to carry a child again. And being able to help out you two is just an added bonus.”_

_Alex sighed, still not letting himself get his hopes up but finding it hard not to be swept away in Eliza’s enthusiasm. “And thank you for that.”_

_“Well, duh.”_

_“So, the plan is that you would be something like an aunt to the kid,” John interrupted to explain, making sure Eliza understood everything about everything before she made any decisions. “Not a mother, but not a stranger either. And although they would know you as their biological mother, we’d be their parents and they’d have to understand that. Is that okay with you?”_

_“Perfect,” Eliza agreed immediately. “I am glad that I get to stick around with you guys, though. I don’t care if the child’s carrying my genes or not; I want to be a part of your kid’s life. Simple as that.”_

_Alex allowed himself to smile for the first time in the conversation, the stress of asking Eliza finally letting way to a nervous sense of anticipation. “Of course you do,” he chuckled nervously, shaking his head even as she let out a breathy laugh._

_“Of course,” she echoed, also smiling._

_That was when John leaned forward again, serious but tentative. “So, what do you say? You don’t have to answer now.”_

_Eliza smiled again. “Well? Quite simply, yes.”_

_A stunned grin slowly wrote itself across John’s face. “Yes?” he repeated, trying to take it in._

_She nodded, letting out a light, slightly giddy laugh. “Yes.”_

_And that’s when Alex yanked her into a hug, both of them laughing giddily and beaming even as John joined in as well, relieved and excited and ecstatic._

_It was about three months later that Eliza called them, barely suppressed elation in her tone as she ordered them to get their asses over to her place as soon as they possibly could._

_It was that afternoon that Angelica snapped the picture of Eliza holding up the positive pregnancy test, sandwiched between two elatedly stunned dads-to-be._

***

Smiling faintly at the image, Alex continues to swipe through pictures, not putting much thought into the action but enjoying seeing the photos he hasn’t thought about in quite a while. He soon comes across a picture of John kneeling beside a four-year-old Frances, grinning down at the child before him as the girl laughed excitedly at something or another off camera. 

That picture was taken a few days after John first met his daughter, barely a week after the car crash that ended Martha Manning’s life. Alex had managed to capture that picture in a rare moment of happiness. Even as he smiled John’s eyes remained red, and Frances’ grin had been an uncommon, extremely brief occurrence for weeks following the accident. 

Alex can still remember that day they found out, can still hear John’s stunned voice bluntly telling Alex that he had a daughter he had never even heard about before, that she was four years old, that her mother had been a fling about a year before he and Alex had begun dating and that the same woman had been killed instantly in a automobile accident just days before. Alex can still think back to the disbelieving flatness to John’s tone as the man quietly informed him of the custody of the girl being offered to them, that the girl had nothing left in the world and no other family to take her in, and that he wanted to raise her as their own. 

He can still hear his own shocked voice immediately agreeing to taking the child in, not quite processing the situation but realizing just how drastic it was. Alex can still remember calling Eliza, who was pregnant with Philip on her third trimester, and telling her of what was going on. He can still remember quietly informing her that they were going to have to go on a shopping trip to get stuff for the girl, a shaky explanation that was vaguely _’Eliza please help me I have no understanding of what four-year-old girls need HELP.’_

And Alex can still see the tremble in John’s hands as he left the house for the social worker’s office that cold November day, off meet his daughter for the first time and bring her home for good. 

***

_John was shaking._

_He was sitting alone in a brightly colored meeting room, shock at the news clouding his mind and grief for a woman he barely even knew coloring his heart yet with an undeniable sense of nervous excitement coursing through him all the same. And, with the mix of these three feelings and more he couldn’t quite put a name to, he was shaking. Like, big time tremors running through his entire being shaking. Really freaking shaking._

_The social worker had left to go and retrieve Frances a few moments prior, the woman strict and stiff and looking terribly out of place in the bright, fun, kid-friendly room John was currently sitting in. They had just finished going over paperwork and rules and agreements, John quietly confirming everything he needed to and signing every necessary document with a trembling pen. By the time he walked out of the office, he’d be officially Frances’ legal guardian, and the girl herself would be with him. Talk about terrifying._

_He hoped he looked okay. First impressions were important, of course, but this had happened so suddenly that John hadn’t had enough time to do more than throw a slightly wrinkled button up over his t-shirt, pull his hair into a vaguely neat bun and pray that his jeans weren’t as worn and old-looking as he feared. He sat and worried and stressed, feeling big and awkward and out of place among the small, childish furniture, unsure of exactly what he should be feeling._

_It seemed to be an eternity and an instant after the social worker left John alone that the old wooden door creaked open once again, this time by the mercy of a much smaller body._

_John’s gaze lifted from the hands trembling in his lap and locked instantly on his daughter._

_She stared right back, curious and independent and defiant from the beginning. Her small hand still reached up and rested on the doorknob, head cocked slightly as she took in the tall, strange man sitting in a plastic chair far too small for him and gazing at her like his world would never be the same._

_From the moment he saw her, Frances felt simultaneously achingly familiar and terrifyingly new to John, finding a complete lack of recognition in her appearance but instantly knowing her spirit as if it was his own. She wore a pair of roughed up, denim overalls over a pink striped shirt and dirty sneakers, her thick, pale brown hair in a fat plaid down her back. A tomboy and an individual and an independent little girl all mixed into one, meeting John’s eyes boldly from the doorway even as the social worker stood expectantly behind._

_Now, John was gay. John was very, very gay. But it took a while for him to admit and realize that he was gay, leading to the couple month fling with Martha during his freshman year of college. He never saw her again after that, never knew that he got her pregnant, never knew that he had a daughter. But he was quite fond of Martha while he knew her; although he wasn’t attracted to her, the girl was kind-hearted and he enjoyed spending time with her._

_And dear god, Frances looked just like her mother._

_She had Martha’s nose, Martha’s confusedly curious expression, and Martha’s eyes, the strangely familiar light brown hues big and questioning on the girl’s face. But, even as John could easily pick out every feature that the girl shared with her mother, he was beginning to see himself in her too. The curly hair, the puzzling, pursed lips, the insane amount of freckles peppering every inch of visible skin… that was all John._

_He had absolutely no doubt that this little girl was his._

_What a strange recognition._

_“Hi there, sweetheart.”_

***

Smiling fondly at that image, Alex continues scrolling, skipping over the countless baby pictures of Philip and later Angie (and pregnancy photos of Eliza featuring Philip and later Angie) to find some of the photos later on. But, even still, he has to stop at the picture of him, John, Frances and Philip all crowded around a newborn Angie sleeping in John’s arms, sitting in a hospital room with Lafayette behind the camera. Eliza was resting in a hospital bed a few feet away at the time of the picture, recuperating after the birth yet still smiling faintly at the completed family.

In the actual picture, John was sitting in a plastic hospital chair with Angie resting in his lap, smiling up at Laf even with the baby in his arms and the only person in the picture actually looking at the camera. Meanwhile, Philip, all of two years old at this point, stood on his tip-toes to gaze down at the tiny human in his dad’s lap. Frances, at seven, was less impressed by the new baby (she’d been through this before with Philip and, sure, the kid was cute, but not all that exciting) but Philip was nothing short of astonished, eyes wide and chubby hand reaching tentatively towards the sleeping infant, forever frozen in the frame of the image. Alex, meanwhile, had one hand resting on Philip’s curls and the other on John’s shoulder, looking away from the camera for just a second to smile down at his family. 

But Alex doesn’t let himself think too much into that memory, moving into the next picture before he has a chance to get worked up.

The next image is one a couple years later, featuring Philip and Theo sprinting after each other in Aaron’s backyard and both laughing hysterically. Just barely in the photo, at the edge of the yard and leaning back against the fence lining the grass, there’s Aaron and Theodosia Sr. Aaron looks anxious at the kids’ rough housing and Theodosia waves off his concern with a relaxed smile from her spot at his side. John was behind the camera and Alex was standing beside him at the time of the picture, left arm slung around his husband’s waist as they watched the kids play. 

***

_“They’re running too fast.”_

_“Aaron, they’re fine.”_

_“It’s making me nervous. One of them is going to fall.”_

_Theodosia laughed gently, setting a hand on her husband’s arm. “Everything makes you nervous, dear.”_

_Theo Jr and Philip ran past just then, Theo sprinting away from Pip as the boy chased her playfully around the yard. They were both laughing so hard they could barely breathe, both eventually tumbling to the ground and lying over each other in the warm grass, gasping for breath and grinning and squinting up at the summer sun. Their hair tangled in the grass as they looked at each other, igniting another round of breathless laughs from a joke only they understood._

_Trying to not think about the chances of sunburns and bee stings, Aaron turned his worry to another one of his favorite subjects instead. He wrapped a gentle arm around Theodosia’s waist, pulling her closer to him and pressing a kiss to the top of her head once she was in reach. “How are you feeling?” he asked softly, murmuring into her hair._

_Theodosia leaned back into her husband but didn’t answer. She faced away from him, gazing out at the kids playing as they now rolled around in the grass, giggling uncontrollably. Across the yard, John and Alex watched them in amusement, John holding up a cheap camera while Alex rested his head on John’s shoulder and his arm around his waist._

_Pulling away slightly from his wife, Aaron looked at her strangely in response to her uncharacteristic silence. “Theodosia?”_

_“I wanted to speak to you about that,” she said softly, still not meeting his gaze even as she stroked the back on his hand absentmindedly. She looked distant and untouchable in the sunlight, so in reach yet so far away. A world’s difference from a few minutes before. “But not here, darling. Just enjoy the moment while we have it.”_

_Aaron’s frown grew. “You’re acting strangely.”_

_“I’m afraid I am.” She watched as Philip and Theo pulled themselves up from the ground to continue their game of tag, shrieking excitedly as they ran. “Aaron, please, not here. We’ll speak of this later.”_

_“Why later? If you’re tired we can ask John and Alexander to take their leave and it won’t be a problem, it’s completely understandable for you to not be feeling well-“_

_“Please, Aaron, leave me be. I’m not going to tell you again.”_

_Brow lowering, Aaron gently took his wife by the shoulders and pushed her away so he could face her, not removing his hands as he studied her tired, weary expression. “No. No, you’re starting to worry me. What’s going on?”_

_“Aaron-“_

_“Theodosia.”_

_“I want to stop treatment.”_

_Theodosia’s gaze settled on Aaron’s eyes, firm and daring him to object. Now she appeared even more untouchable, the sunlight behind her framing her like fire in the sky and expression set. She was beautiful and she was strong and yet she was more worn down than Aaron had allowed himself to see._

_Aaron was silent, stunned and confused. They had never spoken of this before. He found himself searching her expression for any hint of consideration, of hesitation or unsureness, praying for some kind of sign that she wasn’t serious._

_He found nothing._

_“Aaron, please, just let me explain this-“ Theodosia tried, seeing the thoughts written in her husband’s expression even in his stubborn silence. But then he interrupted before she could get out more than a few words, voice demanding yet shaking._

_“There are other treatment options.” His gaze flickered over her face, silently urging her to reconsider, to not go through with the terrible concept that seemed to be taking root in her mind. The children’s playful shrieking and the Laurens-Hamilton’s gentle laughter faded into the background, the only people of importance the two currently in the conversation. “Chemo isn’t the only method. We can consider surgery, or immunotherapy, or-“_

_“We’ve been fighting this for years, Aaron,” Theodosia reminded him quietly, studying him with careful eyes. She never broke eye contact. “Years. Theo’s grown up with a sick mother nearly entire life, and she deserves so much better than that. I want to give it to her.”_

_Aaron struggled for words, his concern now turning to a type of subdued panic, hands gripping her shoulders tighter in an attempt to ground himself. “But the cancer,” he whispered, quietly begging her to see the issue from his perspective. “We can still beat it. I know it’s been stubborn, and I know it’s been hard, but we can’t give up, not yet. Please, Theodosia.”_

_“No, sweetheart. This isn’t giving up. It’s accepting the facts.” Her expression was strangely neutral, understanding but determined. “I’m not one to quit, you know that.”_

_“No, no, stopping treatment would be letting the cancer win, it would be giving in and giving your life to this disease, and we can’t do that, we can’t,” Aaron insisted, finding it hard to form solid sentences._

_Her expression hardened. “Aaron-“_

_Theodosia, please,” he breathed, breath stuttering. Now he was begging, pleading with her to change her mind, tears pricking his vision and expression desperate. “Please.”_

_“Aaron,” she said softly, cupping his face with one hand and brushing away a tear with her thumb. Her expression was suddenly gentle, softening to what he’d always known his wife to be. “Listen. Listen to me, honey. This is my decision, what I think is best for our family.”_

_“No, no it’s not what’s best for our family, there is no family without you,” he tried brokenly, but she shushed him immediately, thumb still stroking back and forth along his cheekbone and drying tears as it went._

_“This way, I can be there for Theo, even for just a little while,” she continued on quietly, smiling faintly at the very idea. “I can let her have a mom that packs her lunch and talks to her after school and takes her to movies on the weekends, just like what she’s deserved all along. Do you know how wonderful that will be for her?”_

_Aaron’s breathing hitched, shaking his head and fighting to keep himself together even as his wife’s words broke him apart. “You’ve always been a wonderful mother, from the very beginning,” he whispered, his murmurs lost as Theodosia continued._

_“And you and I, we can finally get our marriage back. We can go on dates like crazy teenagers and go to dinner with Theo on Friday nights and make fun of reality tv shows together on Saturday mornings, just like we used to when we first got married. Everything will be perfect and domestic and wonderful, even if it’s just for a short amount of time.” Her small smile remained, her decision long made. “It will be absolutely wonderful.”_

_Aaron swallowed hard, shaking his head as a stifled sob escaped him. His words came out stammering and barely decipherable. “I- I can’t lose you,” he managed, voice breaking and expression broken._

_Theodosia’s smile grew sad yet accepting, eyes glittering in the sunlight as her thumb stilled on Aaron’s face. “You are not going to lose me, never completely,” she whispered. “But I’m just done fighting, baby.”_

_That’s when Aaron realized she was not going to change her mind._

***

The next picture, not long after the last, was of Aaron and Alex in black suits, standing side by side before a gravestone with their backs to the camera and heads bowed. Theo had captured that one, actually. She’d been going through a photography stage at the time of Theodosia’s death, and spent most of the funeral snapping pictures of everyone and everything to distract herself from the situation. Although most were blurry and undistinguished, considering her ten-year-old photography skills and cheap camera, this one picture was impressive.

***

_”How are you doing, Aaron?”_

_The man in question turned away from the gravestone before him, smile polite yet mirthless. His eyes were pained but his grief was well disguised. “About as well as to be expected.”_

_“Understandable.”_

_Carefully, Alex walked up beside Aaron to stand before the grave as well. The stone itself was beautiful and new, the fresh dirt littered with brightly-colored flowers and the graveyard a gorgeous, grassy park-like area. It wasn’t a bad resting place in any respect._

_“I’m so sorry, Aaron,” Alex said quietly after a minutes, not making eye contact. He was uncomfortable and awkward, unsure of how to approach this._

_“You’re sorry,” Aaron said flatly, expression stoic and voice soft. “Everyone has been saying that. I don’t quite understand it, truthfully. Sorry for what? It’s not as if this disease was their fault. It wasn’t like they could have done anything to prevent this. Yet everyone apologizes. It’s strange, Alexander, and far too perplexing to be appreciated.”_

_Alex was quiet for a long moment, understanding but sympathetic. “I get it,” he said quietly, “but what else is there to say?”_

_Aaron sighed, expression steely and eyes hard. Emotionless. “Exactly. There’s absolutely nothing else to be said. There’s no words for this.”_

_“I do offer my condolences, at least.”_

_“And thank you for that.”_

_Another long moment of quiet followed, the funeral over and the graveyard nearly empty. John and Philip, both dressed in black, were gradually edging towards the car considering Angie was left with Frances and God knew what could have happened in those few hours, while Theo sat somewhere in the graveyard, clicking through pictures of the day and not allowing herself to think about why the day was necessary in itself._

_“It’s only just hit me that I’ll never hear her laugh again,” Aaron said suddenly, voice barely audible in the quiet of the graveyard. Thoughtful yet flat. “It’s a bit harder to grasp than I previously expected.”_

_“You’ll remember it,” Alex sighed. “I promise, there are some people in this world that are just too good to forget.”_

_“And you know this how?”_

_“That’s a story for another time.”_

_A pause._

_“Thank you for coming, Alexander.”_

_“Of course.”_

***

The next picture was quite a few years later, a selfie of Philip’s friend group with Georges and Mattie looking ecstatic with themselves while Theo and Philip looked pissed but vaguely amused. The background was the pizza joint a few blocks from the school, where Mattie and Georges had tricked Philip and Theo into attending a date together as high school freshmen. But, before they had left the restaurant to give the other two _privacy,_ they insisted on snapping a selfie to preserve this joke of a date forever. 

Little did they know that it would be the first of many.

***

_”Georges, I’m going to say this again. I’m not interested in dating.”_

_“Hmm, yeah, I think I like this one. Spin.” Georges, lying prone on his bed and forcing Philip into trying on varieties of the same shirt for the blind date he had set up for him, motioned for his friend to turn. His phone lay bright but momentarily abandoned on bedspread in front of him._

_Rolling his eyes, Philip obliged. “G, it’s legit a band shirt,” he reminded, feeling vaguely awkward as he spun in a small circle on Georges’ worm carpet._

_“But it’s a very nice band shirt,” Georges defended brightly. “Perfect mix of carelessness, cool and gives you a topic to start out with if the conversation drags.” He nodded decidedly. “Yep, you’re wearing it.”_

_Philip sighed and dropped down on the bed beside Georges. “You, my friend, have been spending way too much time around your dads.”_

_“Perhaps,” Georges admitted._

_“But did you even hear me earlier? I’m dreading this more than I think you even realize. Why the hell did you have to set me up again?” he complained, falling back into the bedspread dramatically._

_Laughing, Georges threw a pillow in his face. “Because you need a social life. Besides, I think you’ll like her. I wouldn’t make you go if I didn’t think this was a good thing.”_

_Philip blocked the pillow, spitting out the hair that ended up in his mouth from the action. Sitting back up to prevent more upholstery attacks, he straightened his shirt and dragged a half-hearted hand through his hair. “Do I at least look okay?”_

_“Well, duh. I helped.”_

_It was maybe an hour or two later that Georges and Philip found themselves sitting in a booth at the pizza place, Georges hanging around until Philip’s date showed up. Philip was nearly ready to give up on the matter entirely when he realized someone was suddenly beside his table._

_“Hey, we’re finally here.”_

_Philip’s gaze snapped up from his menu._

_Standing beside the table was an obnoxiously grinning Mattie and an absolutely appalled Theo. Georges and Mattie looked exceedingly satisfied with themselves, subtly high-fiving as Theo and Philip gaped at each other._

_“Uh, hey, T,” Philip stuttered out, face suddenly flushed red._

_“Please tell me you didn’t know about this either,” Theo said flatly, clutching her purse strangely tightly and face also taking on a pint tint._

_Immediately, Philip was shaking his head. “No way. Not a clue.”_

_That just left Mattie and Georges._

_“And that would be our cue to leave,” Georges exclaimed brightly, sliding out of the booth and grabbing Mattie’s wrist to tow her along with him. “Have fun, eat all you want, Philip will pick up the check, and,” he paused to flash a smile, “remember to use protection.” With that, the two turned tail and booked it before Philip had a chance to do more than brace himself to get up and sputter._

_“YOU BETTER RUN, CONSIDERING I’M GONNA KILL YOU!” Philip finally got out, shouting after them as the two fled the premises, both of them laughing to themselves and leaving Philip and Theo alone in the corner of the restaurant. Philip turned to the girl apologetically as he sunk back down to a sitting position. She still stood uncertainly at the edge of the table. “Well, you might as well sit down. At least the food is halfway decent here.”_

_Nodding slightly, Theo set her purse on the booth opposite from Philip before sliding in herself. She offered Philip a faintly embarrassed, uncomfortable smile, smoothing a her hair behind her ear with one hand, her wrist heavy with multiple, multi-colored bracelets. And, even though every last instinct in Philip’s body was screaming at him that he couldn’t fall for Theo, he also couldn't deny how pretty she looked in the flickering light casted from the singular candle lit on the center of the table, slightly smiling with the golden glow reflected in her dark eyes._

_No, Philip couldn’t fall for Theo._

_But it was too late now._

***

The last picture that Alex pulls up, one of the most recent, is from Alex and John’s twentieth wedding anniversary. That night they kicked the kids out (Angie slept over the Schuyler-Lewis house with Susan while Alex is pretty sure Philip just burst into the Lafayette-Mulligan’s while proclaiming his arrival before settling down on the couch and refusing to move until Georges agreed to let him stay the night) and had a date night in the empty house. They jokingly took a selfie and sent it to all three kids with the sole purpose of embarrassing them, laughingly kissing in the photo with a caption including something about how much they weren’t missing them. 

That night was only a few weeks before Theo was shot. 

***

_”We’re amazing, you know that, right?”_

_Alex laughed softly, taking a sip of his wine as John stared thoughtfully into the fireplace. They were using the empty house to their advantage and enjoying each other’s company (alone) for the first time in a long time. “What do you mean?” Alex asked, smiling faintly in John’s direction._

_“Well, think about it,” John started, also laughing as he took a sip of wine himself. “We’re gay and married. We have three incredible kids, one of which we took in after a car crash killed her mother when she was four and the other two born of a surrogate that also happens to be one of our best friends. I’m a nurse, you’re a lawyer, we’re both self-sufficient men that can support ourselves but we work together anyway. We’re pretty damn amazing.” John looked thoughtful, musing in the light of the fireplace casted over the couch both men were currently stretched out upon. The room was dark and the mood music on, both men somehow managing to fit under the same throw blanket._

_Curling into John and attempting to grab more of the blanket, Alex smiled, seeing his husband’s point. “You’re not wrong. We are pretty great.”_

_“We can get through anything. I mean, we already have, really. It’s kind of nice to think about, to take comfort in.” John sighed, his arm around Alex’s shoulder. He pressed his lips to his husband’s forehead, smiling into the kiss. “I love you, Alexander.”_

_Alex smiled as well, a happy breath escaping him in the warm comfort of the dim room. “I love you too, John. More than I can ever express.”_

***

Alex turns off his phone. 

The present is suddenly here and cold and hard, yanking him out of his memories and back into the terrible situation in front of them. Philip’s still in surgery. John is currently scrolling through his contacts list on his phone, no doubt searching for someone or another to call and inform all over again. And Alex is just as helpless as he was when that damn bullet first hit his son, silent and powerless in the cold waiting room and more emotionally exhausted than he realized was possible. 

He slips his phone into his pocket, putting it and the achingly distant memories out of his attention. He got so far into reliving the images that he now feels strange and confused, vulnerable. It was a mistake. 

But, even now, some lingering fondness and nostalgia triggered by the memories remain within him. Almost on impulse he finds himself studying John, quietly trying to figure out exactly what’s changed since that night just a few weeks ago, since that day in the Burr’s backyard, since Angie was born, since they asked Eliza to be their surrogate, since they met at Jefferson’s high school holiday party. 

“I love you,” he murmurs, staring at John’s pinched, weary expression with thoughtfully vulnerable eyes. 

“Love you too, Lex,” John mutters back distractedly, selecting a contact and putting through a call with an unnamed person, bringing the phone to his ear with the words and not paying any more attention to his husband. He doesn’t waste a glance towards Alex, instead beginning a conversation with the person across the line and leaving Alex to withdraw back into his own mind. 

Suddenly, it hits him. Grief. That’s what changed.

Alex doesn’t know what he’s supposed to be feeling. 

_We can get through anything._

He knows that the anger will kick in soon. The fuming need for revenge that’s always appeared after something terrible happens to someone he loves will start, knocking him out of his quiet, stunned denial and into something purposeful and productive. It’ll happen, it always happens. 

Alex shakes his head, pressing a weary hand over his eyes and trying to ground himself in the cold, empty waiting room. It’ll happen, but it hasn’t yet. Until it does, he’s stuck like this, in this silent state of shock while trapped in his own downward-spiraling thoughts.

_I’m so sorry John, but I don’t think I can believe you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The memories were actually ridiculously fun to write, so I hope you enjoyed seeing that little snapshot of these guys’ past. Let me know what you think!!
> 
> ALSO, I know a lot of you either come from or have read my story I Know That Greatness Lies in You, and I know a lot of you are ready for the sequel. Well, I am too. Here’s your chance to suggest anything you’d like in the sequel, while I’m currently plotting out the storyline. This can be scenes you want, basic ideas, larger ideas, even oneshot ideas for that universe... anything. 
> 
> I’ll begin writing/posting the sequel after this story is finished, so I believe it will begin posting around February. Just thought I’d give you guys a heads up!!
> 
> Thanks for reading and next chapter Monday!!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Alex finally see Philip, Angie goes for a run, Georges and Lafayette have a talk, and Georges gets a phone call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!!!
> 
> Chapter 12 has arrived. I got to write from both Georges’ and Angie’s point of view in this one, so I hope you have as much fun with those guys as I did. 
> 
> No real warnings today, which is kind of rare but a nice change. Well, mentions of alcoholism and rehab, but that's it.
> 
> Beta’d by Jaysong and next chapter Monday!!! Enjoy!!

Alex and John are allowed back to see Philip that afternoon, after surgery is completed and rooms are situated and Philip is as stable as he’s going to get with a hole through his stomach. They’re both exhausted and numb by this point as they trudge nervously over the clean tile, John especially drained from all the calls he’s had to make over the course of the day. 

Angie, sweet, innocent Angie, was by far the hardest to break to news to. 

But now a doctor John’s worked with in the past is leading the couple through halls John knows better than he knows himself, the medical jargon she’s listing off making sense in a subdued way and the cool air tinted with disinfectant in a scent so well-known it's nearly comforting. But, even though everything is extremely familiar to what John encounters on a nearly everyday basis, it’s not the same. Because John isn’t guiding someone else’s family to their loved one, he isn’t going to his next shift, he isn’t on his way to the nurse’s station, he isn’t going to check on a patient or take a five minute break or on his way to do anything even resembling routine.

He’s going to see his shot, unconscious son in the PICU. 

So no, this isn’t the same.

While John is nearly disconnected, wondering and quiet, Alex is nervous and jumpy and hyperactive. He’s been sitting still all day (which is never a good thing with someone as mobile as Alex) and he’s been left alone with his thoughts for far too long. No wonder the poor guy is nearly jumping out of his skin every time John so much as looks at him the wrong way. 

They don’t have much experience in this situation. Every time they’ve been to the hospital together in this context was for small or exciting things, like the births of their children or when Angie had her tonsils removed when she was seven or when Frances got appendicitis in fifth grade. Nothing’s ever been this grim, this grave, and neither one of them is entirely sure how to react to it. 

Then they reach the hospital room, the doctor grimly shows them in, and John freezes. 

Alex’s hand is suddenly clenched around John’s in a single flash of motion in the still, quiet room.

John’s seen so many different bodies in these beds. He’s seen so many different people, seen so many husbands, wives, daughters, sons, significant others, brothers, sisters, siblings, children, moms, dads, still and unmoving between the paper thin sheets. He’s consoled so many families, so many loved ones. He’s seen so many get better, sending them off to their homes with relieved, bittersweet happiness. He’s seen so many that have never gotten to step out of the hospital again in this lifetime, beaten by whatever they had the terrible luck of acquiring and leaving quietly in the dark of night, the concentrated tension of an operating room, in the arms of family members and in the bittersweet alleviation of feeling no more pain. He’s seen so many lives settled in these rooms, still in the bed, pale between the sheets and surrounded by frantic loved ones. He’s seen so many. 

None of that could have ever prepared him for the sight of his son in the place of that many. 

None of that could have ever prepared him for seeing Philip as the one settled in the cold, unfeeling room, still and small in the wide bed, pale between the stiff sheets and surrounded by none other than Alex and John themselves. 

_None._

John isn’t sure if it’s better or worse that he can recognize and name nearly every machine Philip’s attached to at the moment. He isn’t sure if it consoles him or simply terrifies more to realize just how each machine is helping to keep Philip alive, just how necessary each machine is for assuring that his son doesn’t die at the tragically young age of sixteen. 

But, looking at his husband’s stunned, grieving expression and feeling the death grip he’s still got on his hand, John doesn’t think any of that matters. 

Because that’s his son lying in that bed, that’s _Philip,_ and they’ve _got_ to be strong for him. 

The rest, John supposes, will simply have to come after. 

***

That night, John and Alex make the terrible but necessary decision to have Eliza bring Angie to the hospital to see Philip, just in case. 

What John and Alex don’t make a decision about is that Mattie and Georges will come along with Eliza and Angie. No, that decision is made entirely by Mattie and Georges themselves. 

But, even when John meets Eliza and Angie in the waiting room just to find Philip’s best friends determinedly behind them with firmly stubborn expressions written across their faces, Eliza tiredly explaining that she tried to kick them out of her car, she really did, but they refused to move and she’s just not in the mood to pursue getting them to obey, John isn’t really surprised. He just flatly tells Eliza, Georges and Mattie to stay in the waiting room while he gently takes Angie by the shoulders and steers her in the direction of Philip’s hospital room. 

She’s shaky and nervous and shocked, John knows without her having to say a word. She holds so much of Alex in so much of what she is and what she does, her mannerisms and habits and expressions so much like Alex that John can read her as easily and effortlessly as he can his husband at almost all times. And right now, the thinly veiled panic and stress in her expression mirrors Alex right before he breaks down. John, his arm still around her shoulders, pull her closer to his side as they walk the halls in silence. 

When they arrive, Angie steps in the hospital room, takes one look at the unconscious Philip with an oxygen mask over his pale face and rubs spiraling out of his limp body, turns tail and runs. 

John’s running after her before he can even processing what’s he’s doing.

Alex stays in the room, hollow and quiet and not overly surprised by Angie’s disappearing act, and realizes a small, terrible part of him is wishing that he could just run away from all this too. 

But then he looks at the face of his son, sighing quietly into the white noise of beeping heart monitors and humming machinery and hissing oxygen machines. No, he doesn't want to run. He needs to be right here, right where he needs to be. John can handle Angie, and he can handle himself. Everything’s gonna be okay. 

He attempts a weak smile towards his unconscious child, the kid scarily still. “Dear god, Philip,” he whispers, voice crackly and hoarse from disuse over the course of the day. “You better be enjoying your beauty sleep right about now, because I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to see you sleeping the same way again.” He squeezes his son’s hand lightly, trying not to dwell on how cold Philip’s skin is. “Hang in there kid.”

And then Alex is silent. 

***

Angie doesn’t know where she’s going. 

She doesn’t know this hospital. She doesn’t know these halls. She doesn’t even know where the damn bathroom is. So, logically, she really shouldn’t be sprinting through the halls at full speed, especially considering the chances of running into a wall she wasn’t aware was there or tripping over a gurney or something. Nothing about this entire situation is anything even _resembling_ logical.

Maybe that’s what’s shaking her up so much. 

Angie is based very heavily upon logic and math and the mechanics of things. She likes to know how things work. And that image? That image, right inside that forsaken, sterile hospital room of the one and only constant in her occasionally unconventional life laying pale and small in a huge bed, so still he looks like he’s never going to move again? _That image does not work._

Her entire life, she’s been told that she has her father’s brain and her mother’s sense. A kickass combo, her pops once told her smugly just to be hit quite suddenly by an automatic _language_ from her dad. But, even then, Alex had just winked and mouthed _kickass_ again behind John’s back, a smirk quirking at the corners of his mouth. Philip looked up from his breakfast just long enough to see the silent word, and barked out a startled laugh that was enough to bring John’s attention back to matter. Alex was quick to loudly proclaim his son a traitor, a dramatic hand splayed across his chest as John whacked him lightly over the head with a newspaper.

Angie chokes back a sob and pulls away from the memory.

She careens around another corner, some fuzzily memorized directions subconsciously guiding her back to the general area of the waiting room. She can hear John’s footsteps slapping the floor behind her, shouting after her to slow down, to think for a moment, that she needs to stop. But she can’t stop, no matter how much she wants to, because she has a terrible tendency to run away from her problems that she inherited straight from Alex himself. 

This time around, it’s literally. Usually it’s more of a mental thing, but literally is just gonna have to work too. 

She never really made the conscious decision to start sprinting. In fact, on the way to the room, she actually made a conscious decision to stick this one out. Firmly told herself that she could handle this, that she was going to figure this out, and that everything was going to be alright. 

But the moment her gaze settled on Philip, her best friend, her partner in crime, her _brother_ unconscious and so terribly still in that damn bed, that great little mental ideal simply shattered. And then she was running, blinking frantic tears out of her eyes and feeling the hair that’s escaped her braid repeatedly smack her in the face and taking long, burning leaps of steps and not caring about any of it. 

Because dear _god,_ Philip is _not_ meant to look like that. He’s not meant to look helpless and small and vulnerable. He’s meant to be protective and joking and grinning, ruffling her hair when he’s proud and comforting her when she’s upset and watching movies with her when neither one of them have anything to do on random Friday nights and and laying sprawled across her bed while giddily recounting every last detail from his last date with Theo and just being _Philip,_ energetic, excitable, laughing, optimistic, caring, teasing gentle comforting intelligent sweet poetic creative personable _Pip._

The poor boy lying broken and bruised in that bed is the farthest thing from her brother that Angie can possibly imagine.

But that broken boy _is_ Philip. 

It’s Philip, and she can’t escape that no matter how hard she tries. 

She’s in the process of dragging her sleeve over her face, trying to dry her eyes with rough, clumsy swipes and stifling another sob, when she runs smack dab into a warm chest. 

At first, she panics, scrabbling to pull away and apologies already automatically rolling off her tongue, face flaming with embarrassment and the sudden interference forcing her to come back to reality and stop sprinting away from her issues. Only now she realizes how out of breath she is, the combination of running and dry sobs leaving her gasping and stuttering through her apologies, hair mussed from it’s usual neat Dutch braid and eyes red. She tries to backpedal frantically, attempting to get away from the unsuspecting person she barreled into and mind spiraling to try and catch up. 

Then, “Ang? Dear god, dude, what the hell happened? Hon, seriously, take a breath, you’re okay, I promise you, you’re alright, calm down, sweetheart.”

_Georges._

A ragged sob of relief escaping her, she surges to throw herself right back into her brother’s best friend’s arms, dignity be damned. 

He staggers back with the impact, but quickly gets the message. “Woah there, kid,” he whispers, voice concerned but understanding as he wraps his arms tentatively around her again. He dips his head down closer to her ear, gentle and fast to get what’s happened. “Hey, everything’s okay. Everything’s fine.” 

Within a few seconds, he’s hugging her back and quietly murmuring reassurances so quietly only she can hear, allowing her to have a moment to herself even as concerned mutters fly over her head from the others in the room with them. In an ideal world, Angie wouldn’t be trembling and sobbing into Georges’ shirt, no. But Georges has been around for as long as Angie can remember. He’s nearly as much as a brother to her as Philip is. Georges is _safe._

And, shuddering in G’s embrace and taking comfort in the fact that he (probably) won’t judging her for breaking down in a hospital waiting room, Angie thanks every deity she can think of for that. 

***

John skids to a stop in the waiting room, makes eye contact with a sympathetically freaked out Eliza, glances at Mattie as she carefully steps back from the situation, and takes in the image of Angie shaking like a leaf in Georges’ arms, sobbing raggedly and he holds her and lets her unload, looking down at her worriedly but understandingly. 

When he appears in the doorway, Georges’ eyes snaps to John’s, the nurse heaving for breath. Having long established a sort of silent language with the teenager, John looks pointedly towards Angie before meeting G’s gaze again, silently asking if she’s alright, what happened, what’s going on within one motion. 

Georges shakes his head silently, not loosening his grip on the girl in his hold. His expression is troubled.

_Not a clue._

John can sympathize.

***

Eliza’s car is silent. 

Angie is curled up like a cat in the passenger seat, staring out the window with red eyes and her hands stuffed in her pockets. It’s still raining, the raindrops thudding softly against the glass and steaming down the window in blurred strips of stormy water. 

In the backseat, Georges watches the world go by out the window as well, arms crossed over his chest and expression concerned but brooding. Mattie is on her phone, playing a senseless game with bright colors and stupid rules in an attempt to distract herself from the situation at hand. 

Meanwhile, Eliza is just trying to keep herself together.

She’s white-knuckling the steering wheel, staring determinedly at the windshield wipers periodically flicking away the raindrops on the glass and not letting her mind wander past two car lengths in front of her. 

It is not the time nor place for that. 

Quietly, she has to wonder what it’s like for this poor family. They just get hit by one thing after another after another, like a never ending assault of bad-luck bullets that strike their targets more than they miss them. 

Bad metaphor. Moving on.

Eliza will be allowed to see Philip even while he’s in the PICU, considering she’s technically family. She’s just glad that she’ll be able to help John and Alex more than anything else; they’re going to need it with the aftermath of this. She’s already taking in Angie until all this calms down, she needs to do all she can until Philip is able to stroll out of that hospital himself. 

Because despite all the documents she’s signed, despite everything she understands and respects and has agreed to, Philip is still her kid. Philip is still her kid and she refuses to let him and two of her best friends go and waste away in an intensive care unit. 

She’ll be back to help more, of course she will. 

She spins the wheel nearly thoughtlessly, not thinking and too focused on not letting her mind wander and failing far too terribly in that attempt to actually consider the rules of the road. 

She slams on the brakes just in time when she realizes a red light in suddenly before her.

Every passenger in the car flies forward with the force of the sudden stop, caught and thrown back by their seat belts within the same movement. Eliza’s gripping the wheel tighter than she realized, breathless and stunned as she rocks back into the seat, Angie tightly gripping the car door handle to steady herself as Mattie lets out a startled yelp and her phone goes flying across the car. 

She stares at the red light shining back at her stubbornly through the storm clouds, breath stuttering and shallow as she attempts to wrap her mind around what just happened. Mattie carefully reaches for her phone again, Georges exhaling quietly as Angie just curls up in a tighter ball.

“I’m so sorry, guys,” Eliza says blankly, eyes wide as she tries to catch her breath. _I almost took one of the few things this broken family has left._ “I don’t know what happened there.” _Oh my god._ “Is everyone alright?” _That was far, far too close._

Georges nods shakily, catching Eliza’s freaked out eye in the rear-view mirror as he straightens cautiously. “We’re okay,” he breathes, the silent undercurrent of _please don’t panic on us_ heard in the words. 

“Angie, Mattie? Neither one of you hurt?” she presses anyway, slowly beginning to drive again with far more focus this time.

Angie nods mutely beside Eliza, her grip on the door loosening slightly, while Mattie quietly confirms her well-being from the backseat. Eliza breathes out a silent breath of relief, steering towards the Jefferson’s house to drop off Mattie with careful precision. Her hands shake on the steering wheel, suddenly finding it increasingly harder to keep her mind as quiet and focused as she’d like.

That shook her up.

_That could have ended catastrophically._

Today has, for lack of better word, sucked. 

Eliza blows out a slow breath, steadying her gaze on the road and forcing her hands to relax upon the steering wheel.

_Don’t think._

_Eyes on the road._

_Breathe._

***

“Hey, I’m home.” Georges closes the door behind him, stepping into the quiet house and glancing around the dark foyer once the door is firmly shut and locked. He tucks a piece of hair behind his ear with one hand and quietly notes how cold the house is. “Where are you?”

“I am in the living room.”

“I’m just going to put my coat up and then I’ll be right there, okay?” Pulling off his coat and transferring his phone to his jeans pocket, he walks through the silent hallways with his head down and comes into the dim living room within a few moments, stopping in the doorway as his gaze settles upon Lafayette, who’s sitting on the worn couch and staring into space with an abandoned book on his lap. A single lamp is turned on on a nearby end table, the house being lit only by the weak, pearl grey October sunlight filtering through the rain clouds plaguing the sky outside. Georges lets out another grimly accepting sigh at the sight. _Where the hell is William when we need him?_

“Hey,” he says passively as he walks into the room, a small, quietly fake smile quirking at the corner of his mouth. His arms swing gently at his sides in as much of a carefree way as he can realistically make it look. 

Lafayette’s gaze flickers to his son at the greeting, as if he’s only just noticed his presence. A small smile masking over his face, he closes the book and sets it aside, his eyes holding the same kind of weak, fragile light as the pale sunlight playing across the wooden floor in angular patches. “Hello. How is Philip doing?”

Georges bites his lip, crossing the room to sit on the couch beside his father, hands on his knees as he lowers himself to the threadbare cushions. “I didn’t get to see him, but I don’t think he’s doing overly spectacular right now, if Angie’s reaction was anything to go off of,” he admits quietly. “John said he’s still unconscious from the surgery.”

Lafayette looks troubled by this, rubbing a concerned hand over his face. His smile flickers out. “Alexander and John will keep us updated, I am sure.”

“They probably will. I hope they do, at least.”

“How about Theo? She at least is doing better, is she not?”

“Yeah, actually,” Georges agrees, meeting Lafayette’s sincere gaze briefly in the grey living room before looking away again. “Philip texted me yesterday; apparently he got to see her for a while, and she’s going to be okay. That’s what Pip said Aaron told them, at least.”

Laf nods once, releasing a breath. “Well, we have at least that to be grateful for, _oui?”_

_”Oui,” _Georges echoes automatically, not really registering the language change. He’s been fluent in both English and French for as long as he can remember, Hercules learning as much as he could after he and Laf were married and Georges and William being raised with a mix of the two tongues.__

__“You said Angie reacted badly? How is she doing with this?” Lafayette asks, if not just to break the silence. He watches Georges’ profile carefully, firmly assuring his son’s well being even in the vague state he himself is in._ _

__Georges shrugs, avoiding his father’s intense gaze again. Lafayette always gets like this when he and Hercules have been having problems, distant and upset but trying so desperately to make everything seem okay. “She was crying pretty hard. Ran right into me, actually. I told her to text me if she needed anything.”_ _

__“That was kind of you.”_ _

__“Well, yeah, she’s like my little sister. And I’m pretty sure she already knew that my messages are always open to her. I mean, she’s been sending me weekly memes since she was twelve, so I don’t expect her to be shy about asking for help from me if she needs it.”_ _

__“Ah.”_ _

__An awkward silence settles over the two of them for a long moment, Lafayette staring into space without seeming like he realizes he’s doing it and Georges wrestling with himself about what he desperately wants to ask but is afraid of risking. He would just text Hercules himself, but Lafayette doesn’t like him or Will to contact Herc in any way when he’s going through a tough patch. His reasoning varies from time to time, most often that Lafayette doesn’t want them to distract him from what needs to do but occasionally that he just doesn’t want them to see Hercules like that. The latter usually happens only when Lafayette is tired or fresh out of an argument._ _

__Risking a careful glance at his father, Georges bites his lip again lightly, deciding that he may as well try. His fingers tap out a subconscious, nervous rhythm on his jeans. “Any word from Dad?” he asks carefully, still keeping his eyes trained on Lafayette to know when to execute a quick subject change if need be and prepared for nearly anything. But Laf only sighs heavily, dragging a weary hand over his eyes._ _

__“He texted me earlier today, yes. He is staying with Cato until he is, ah, ready to return home.”_ _

__Georges sits back into the couch, a dreading, gravely accepting breath escaping him as he does so. Throwing caution to the wind, he continues while they’re still on the subject, pushing it while he has it. ”Dad’s probably going back to rehab, huh?”_ _

__Lafayette lets out a similar sigh, leaning back as well and looking tired. “He insisted upon it himself.”_ _

__“How long?”_ _

__“I do not know, Georges.”_ _

__To his credit, his mind is currently taking in the fact that two of his best friends are currently in the hospital with gunshot wounds and his father is momentarily kicked out of the house for issues with alcohol in a strangely easy manner. _I’ve got a weird feeling this isn’t going to last,_ Georges thinks musingly, feeling oddly distant from the situation. He’s not surprised by the news of Hercules either, actually. He still can remember the first time this happened, and although it was kind of hard to grasp that Lafayette made Hercules leave the house when Lafayette told him and Will that morning after. Hercules will be back. His dads love each other too much for this to be permanent. This is a temporary thing; it’s gotta be. _ _

__“I am so sorry about this.”_ _

__Georges’ attention is pulled out of his own thoughts and back to the issue at hand by Lafayette’s quiet apology, his gaze flickering to his father to find the man with his head resting back against the top of the couch cushions, eyes closed and expression pained. “Why are you sorry?”_ _

__Lafayette shakes his head, not opening his eyes. “You are sixteen, yet you have two classmates shot and a drunk of a father. It truly is not fair for you.”_ _

__“Life isn’t fair,” Georges amends carefully, voice firm. “I’m not the only kid with an occasionally shitty situation.”_ _

__“Language,” Lafayette cuts in automatically, but lets his son continue despite it._ _

__“I’m really not, though. Honestly, my life is usually great. There’s just a few, uh, blips in the path, I guess. And none of it’s your fault either. So don’t get all guilty on me, okay? I’m perfectly fine.”_ _

__Lafayette huffs a mirthless breath of a laugh, the smile it brings extremely fleeting. “You sounded just like your father when you said that.”_ _

Georges opens his mouth to reply when his phone begins buzzing in his pocket, vibrating angrily as it screams out the beginning of _Living on a Prayer_ (Philip’s idea) into the quiet room. Frowning, he scrambles to pull it out into the open just to find a truly tragic selfie of William smoldering back at him (he took Georges’ phone and returned it with dozens of similar pictures plaguing the camera roll a few months ago, and Georges found his revenge in placing one as his contact photo to preserve it’s beauty forever for everyone to see) and the contact name of _BROTHAAAA_ plastered across the screen.

He looks at Lafayette apologetically, confused but understanding that William wouldn’t call him unless it was an emergency and wouldn’t call _him_ instead of Lafayette if it wasn’t meant for only Georges himself. _What’s going on?_ “I’m sorry, I gotta take this,” he says distractedly to Laf, getting to his feet and hurrying upstairs to the privacy of his bedroom. He hates to ditch Lafayette in the middle of an honestly really important conversation, but this has to be urgent for William to be calling. If it wasn’t, he’d probably just text or something, and on top of that, Georges has a strange, intense feeling that something’s going on. And because of that, he’s just going to have to sacrifice a few bits of dialogue with Lafayette.

__The phone is still buzzing insistently in his hand when he enters the room and slams the door shut behind him, answering on the final ring. “Dude, what’s going on?” he hisses into the phone, falling back and leaning against the door to assure that it stays closed and skipping a greeting without much thought._ _

_“G?”_ a voice questions, sounding hushed and nervous.

__“Who the hell else would it be?” he snaps back, but then forces himself to take a breath. No, he’s not the happiest with his brother at this point and time (William always tends to disappear at the worst possible times and pop back up at even worse, he really shouldn’t be wasting time getting worked up over it anymore) but he still needs to be civil. “Yeah, it’s me.”_ _

_“You’re alone?”_

__“In my room with the door closed and Lafayette downstairs.”_ _

_“Can you meet me?”_

__Georges frowns, a dubious concern making itself known in his mind. Gazing pointlessly at his rug, his free hand moves to rest on the door handle, thumb rubbing over the old brass. “Uh, why?”_ _

William hesitates for a moment, his voice subtly desperate when he speaks again. _“I just need to talk to you without anyone overhearing. In person.”_

“This seems like the set up to a bad horror film,” Georges says flatly, mind spinning to try and figure out what’s going on with this situation entirely. This _never_ happens; Georges and Will don’t even get along most of the time. William’s way faster to trust his friends than to trust his brother, so whatever’s happened, it must be something that he can take to family. 

The irritation is heard in William’s silence following Georges’ blunt statement.

__Giving in, Georges huffs in submission, trying to hide how uncomfortable he is (another thing that never happens) behind snappish replies and a quick temper. “Where?” he asks dryly, the dread already lacing his voice._ _

_“Weehawken.”_

“Are you _INSANE-“_

_“Hey, hey, calm down, kid. Please, just trust me with this one. I really need some help.”_

“And I really don’t feel comfortable with this,” Georges says uncertainly, his free hand leaving the door handle to run nervously through his hair. “I don’t know. How will I get there?”

_“Sneak out and take the car. I’ve known you’ve done it before, so don’t even try to hide it.”_

“I did it _once,_ and I literally drove to Philip’s house the day after I got my permit. And then I failed to take John and Alex into account, and John literally texted Hercules that I drove two blocks over illegally and I was grounded for two weeks. Don’t tell me you don’t remember this, because I was absolutely mortified and distinctly remember yelling at you afterwards because, oh yeah, _it was your damn idea in the first place.”_

A long, drawn out sigh is heard across the line. _”Please, Georges.”_ The desperate pleading is heard in his tone. _”I need you, brother.”_

__Ah, damn._ _

Georges lets his head thud back against the wood of the door, swallowing hard as his eyes shut briefly. He’s filled with a sense of loathing irritation at himself and his unavoidable answer to this situation. No matter how hard he tries to say no, it’s just not going to work like that, and he’s painfully aware of it. _I swear to God, I am too frickin’ nice._

__“If I get shot, I’m suing you for the hospital bills,” he mutters into the phone, and ends the call._ _

____

__Grabbing a hoodie from his bed and sliding his phone firmly back into his jeans pocket, Georges silently shoves up his window screen, curses his kindness, crawls out onto the roof in a maneuver he and Philip perfected in sixth grade and carefully slips down a series of somewhat perilous perches until he lands on the dark grass. The night is cold and the grass frozen under him, his breath clouding the air as he pulls the hood of his jacket over his head._ _

____

__He utters a silent prayer that Lafayette won’t check upstairs before he’s returned and sinks off to take the car without permission._ _

____

___There’s no way this will end even halfway good._ _ _

____

___Oh well._ _ _

____

__***_ _

____

__That night, John knows it’s bad the moment the doctor steps into the room._ _

____

__There’s something about her posture. About her expression, about the way she holds herself, about the grim apology in the thin line of her mouth. Something bad has happened or is happening._ _

____

__Sitting beside his husband with their son’s unconscious form before them, John raises an unamused, dryly accepting eyebrow. Might as well just add to the already terrible day. Put the damn cherry right on the damn sundae._ _

____

__Alex doesn’t notice her presence at first, but then the doctor sighs pointedly, which is enough to attract Alex’s attention as well. When both men are watching her expectantly, the doctor sighs again, folding her hands in front of her. John’s been watching the nurses run in and out of here all day, he knows something’s up. What, though, he isn’t yet sure of, which he will readily admit is scary as hell. But still the doctor is silent._ _

____

__“What is it?” John finally asks flatly, bouncing knee giving away his nerves as he reaches the end of his patience with the hesitating woman. “Just tell us. We’ve already gotten quite a few hits today, I promise we can probably handle another.”_ _

____

__The doctor looks less than amused with John’s blunt statement, but sighs again for good measure as she speaks. “An infection is beginning to accumulate in the wound,” she finally admits. She looks apologetic, John staring back stonily. “We’ll start him on antibiotics immediately, but you must understand-“_ _

____

__“We understand plenty,” John interrupts darkly, firmly pushing down his nursing knowledge about what this might mean and knowing he’s going to have to explain this to Alexander later._ _

____

__“-your son may not survive the night,” the doctor finishes, expression grave and voice firm. “The infection drastically lowers his chances of making this unless we caught it early enough. I believe we have, but there is always a chance. You must understand this.”_ _

____

__That shuts John up immediately._ _

___”Dang,”_ Alex mutters, expression stunned. Looking up at the doctor, he huffs out a breath. “We can’t catch a damn break, can we?”_ _

___Truer words have not been spoken,_ John thinks quietly, his hand suddenly within Alex’s own._ _

__He squeezes his husband’s hand lightly, reassuringly, as the doctor goes on to explain._ _

____

__Alex squeezes back gently, and that’s that, both men staring up at the doctor as she describes the plan of action for treatment, the night dark just outside the windows and the rain still only intensifying._ _

____

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I’ve got a problem with cliffhangers. 
> 
> HISTORICAL NOTES: Angelica Hamilton actually had a mental breakdown after Philip's death, and was said to revert back to a child-like state and never recovered. There are some wonderful fics out there that transition this fact into modern times beautifully. This fic is not one of them. I don't have enough experience to write this realistically, and I'm terrified of writing anything as serious as that incorrectly, so I'm just going to avoid that part of history. Thanks!
> 
> Anyway, I know that last week was the first week back after winter break for a lot of you guys, so how was that? How you guys doing? 
> 
> Thanks for reading and next chapter Monday!! Have a really great week and, if you need this right about now, just know how much I missed you guys on my break. Seriously, I really, really missed y’all. Have an incredible day and see you next week. <3


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lafayette panics, John tries to help, Georges heads to the park and William explains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> So, chapter 13 is pretty much a monster. I spent about eight hours on it, possibly more, and I stayed up until 2 am last night to finish revisions. I’m tired but vaguely proud.
> 
> Warnings: none really, any warnings would give spoilers so... just know there’s nothing explicit or graphic here, really. Read with caution but you should be fine. 
> 
> Beta’d by Jaysong and next chapter Monday! Enjoy!!

It’s nearly midnight by the time John receives the call. 

The phone, buzzing furiously in his pocket and ringing quietly into the near silence of the hospital room, is enough to jerk John out of the doze he settled into within a few seconds of dutiful vibrations and singing out a ringtone. Back immediately aching from the chair he fell asleep in, he scrambles to at least silence the device, sure that it’s a telemarketer or wrong number for calling so late in the night and not wanting the ringtone to wake Alex up from his much needed sleep or disturb Philip. His movements are muddled and slow, somewhat confused but lucid enough to realize that he’s gotta _shut this damn phone up._

Finally able to pull his phone into the open from where it was still nestled in his pocket, John goes to decline the call, his mind still foggy with sleep and the hospital room dark except for a few dim lights spreading in from the hall. But then, squinting at the small screen impossibly bright in the darkness, John reads the contact name. 

_Lafayette._

Lafayette? 

Eyes narrowing in confusion, John answers the call. His voice is a whisper, hoarse and husky from disuse and sleep. “Uh, hello?”

_”John,”_ Lafayette breathes back, relief saturating his tone as it crackles across the line. _”I am so sorry to be calling this late, but is there any chance that Georges is with you?”_

John blinks, mind trying to process this as he simultaneously attempts to wake up. But then he looks around the dark, quiet room and decides that this is not the best place to have a conversation, especially this conversation. His gaze flickers over Philip, still unconscious and still in the hospital bed and having not moved since the last time John saw him, and then towards Alex, slouched in a chair beside his own with his head back and mouth gaping slightly as a slight snore escapes him, the exhaustion in the lines of his face and visible even in the dim lighting. Nope, can’t stay here. “Hold on a minute, I’m going to go out into the hall.” 

Carefully getting up from his chair and cursing it’s slightly creaking with the alleviation of his weight, John quietly leaves the room with softly squeaking steps against the tile. He stops in the brightly lit hall, squinting in the harsh glow of glaring overhead lights, leaning against the wall a few feet from the doorway and finding himself alone out here. He drags a heavy hand over his face, trying to wake himself up and rub the sleep out of his eyes in one movement. “Alright, I’m back. What’s going on?”

_”It is Georges. He is just… gone, suddenly. He took the car, is not answering my calls, turned the tracker on his phone off and did not leave any indication of where he went.”_ The distress is heard in Lafayette’s voice, his accent more pronounced both in his concern and at this hour. _“He is not with you?”_

Immediately, John has sharpened, all traces of drowsiness gone from his mind. He straightens against the wall, expression hardening. “No, he isn’t. Do you have any idea where he would have disappeared to? When did you last see him?”

_”Non,”_ Lafayette whispers dismally, and John is nearly sure that the man’s pacing as he speaks from the steady rhythm to his words and the faint footfalls he’s just barely able to hear across the line. _”And I was speaking to him just half an hour ago, if even that. Georges doesn’t do things like this. I assume he took his phone but I cannot be sure of even that. John, I do not know where my son is. What do I do?”_

“Well, take a deep breath, for starters,” John says levelly, immediately thinking logic. Although just concern is immediately flaring for Georges, panicking isn’t going to help anyone. “Where’s Hercules? Would he have any idea?”

_”Hercules is still out of the house. I have not contacted him yet.”_

John releases a breath. “Do you think he’s sober by this point? Or at least sober enough to help us?”

Lafayette hesitates. _”He seemed so when he texted me, but that was so much earlier in the day. I cannot say for sure.”_

“Text him as soon as you get off the phone with me,” John instructs, voice gentle but firm. “I get that you guys need time, but we might need him with this. Call if you can. You know how much I hate to ask you to do this, but Georges is his son too, and he needs to know.”

There’s a soft, crackly exhalation across the line. _”I understand.”_

“How about William? Do you where he is?” John presses on, trying to eliminate every possibility. He knows that Laf is panicking, and he seriously knows how much the guy doesn’t want to talk to Hercules, but this is _serious,_ and he has to figure this out. Georges grew up right alongside Philip and Frances and Angie; he’s not going to just sit there and let the kid get hurt or lost, no matter where he is at the moment. “Is there any chance he’s with G?”

_”John, I never have any idea of where Will is,”_ Lafayette says exasperatedly. _”He is not in the house, but I doubt Georges is with him. I do not know why he would be.”_

“Try tracking William’s phone anyway.”

_”He has almost definitely turned off his tracker-“_

“Do it, Laf. Trust me.”

_”Fine.”_

There’s a moment of quiet as Lafayette pulls the phone away from his ear to try to track his eldest’s location, clicking through apps on his screen even as he stays on the line with John. But then there’s a strangled , short inhale of a gasp, and then silence.

“Lafayette?” John barks into the phone immediately, shoving off the wall and mind racing. “Laf, what happened?”

Nothing. 

“I’m serious. Answer me, _now.”_

There’s only another second of silence after that, but John can’t take it. He’s helpless and trapped across the line, unable to know or see what’s happening and _hating it_ with his entire being. 

_”Lafayette!”_ he finally yells sharply, his abrupt shout seeming to shatter the almost unreal silence in the halls with rough words. The bright lighting of the hallway is strange at such a late hour, and the sterile feeling of the white walls upon the odd feeling of day in the night only makes this entire situation that much more real. “What the _hell_ is going on?!”

_”William is at Weehawken Park,”_ Lafayette breathes. 

John stops. 

His mouth opens once, twice, trying to find something to say and unable to find even a single word. His free hand comes up to rest on the back of his neck almost unconsciously. He stands stationary and stunned in the quiet that has rushed back to the hallway with startling instensity, the hospital still and quiet and feeling nearly dreamlike again in the bright, silent night. 

“Georges,” he finally says bluntly, immediately knowing where the kid is with the exact sort of certainty that comes without explanation. 

_”Georges,”_ Lafayette agrees weakly. 

“Call Herc, try William and Georges’ phones again. I’ll be at your place in less than ten minutes.”

_”But Philip-“_

“I can’t help Philip. There’s nothing I can do for him. Georges, however, is another matter entirely and one I refuse to take chances on. I’m coming.”

_”Then hurry.”_

“Have you ever known me to be slow with these things?”

_”Non.”_

“Exactly. I’ll be right there.”

***

Georges can distinctly remember being a kid, maybe fifth grade at the oldest, and coming home to his dads to proudly declare that he was never ever gonna give into peer pressure because he learned how to say no at school and he was always gonna remember that. Also, peer pressure was a new word for him at the time, which was always exciting. He’s not sure why he remembers that so vividly, but it’s a very distinct memory straight from the gold-rimmed archives of elementary school.

Now, he has to wonder if the term _peer pressure_ applies to brothers. 

It probably does, because that’s just the kind of day he’s been having. 

He sits behind the wheel of Laf’s car, driving with a silent air of pissed and honestly wondering why the hell he’s even leaving the house on a night like this. It’s dark and freezing out, for one, the only lights for quite a while his headlights as they sweep past the road before him with cold precision. The clock on the dashboard reads 11:44 as he goes, the directions to Weehawken nearly ingrained in his mind from all the times he’s met Philip, Mattie and Theo there on lazy Saturday mornings and study filled Thursday afternoons. Weehawken kind of was their place, especially earlier this year. So the fact that Philip’s blood now stains the grass there somewhat freaks Georges out. 

Bad thought process. Back to awkward peer pressure memories, because that was honestly way better. 

Georges manages to entertain himself with multitudes of variations of _why am I doing this_ until he reaches the park, silently parking his car in the achingly familiar spot he’s used ever since he’s gotten his license. Before he can talk himself out of it, he pulls out his phone and turns on Lafayette’s tracker app again. There’s just something weird about this. Slipping his phone back into his pocket, Georges ducks out of the car and slips into the night. 

At this hour, the park is empty and silent, strange shadows throwing themselves across the grass as he carefully walks to the bench William promised he’d be at. Quietly, Georges has to wonder if this is how Philip felt just this morning, waiting for Eacker and standing, vulnerable and expectant in the middle of the park. 

Again, bad thought process. Just find William, for God’s sake, and get out of here already. 

It’s not long until he finds his brother’s hunched over and nervous frame sitting alone on a cold park bench near the center of the reserve, surrounded by mist and darkness. He faces away from Georges, his red hair glinting slightly in the low lighting, puffy coat visibly hanging off his thin frame even from the other boy’s vantage point from several feet away still. 

Georges lets out a long breath and makes himself trudge over there. 

Even by the time he’s reached his brother, William still hasn’t realized Georges is here. So, Georges sets a careful hand on Will’s shoulder to alert him of his presence. Really, it’s not his best move from the beginning, but not anything too out of the ordinary either. 

It’s nearly instantly that Georges finds a pistol shoved in his face, his brother’s panickedly determined expression just behind it as his hands shake around the weapon. 

“Shit!” Georges yelps, jumping backward and his hands up almost immediately. “It’s me, just me! Chill!”

Suddenly, William lowers the gun slightly but doesn’t avert the barrel, blinking owlishly at Georges in the limited light. His blue eyes are skittish and nervous, flickering over his brother’s face, shoulders hunched and entire frame trembling slightly. He’s nearly unrecognizable, the darkness partly masking his features and what little of his expression visible displaying a fear that is very, very uncharacteristically William. “Wait. G?”

Georges nods frantically. 

William releases a short sigh of relief and puts the gun down on the bench beside him, still keeping his hand on the cold metal but dropping the weapon. He still looks nervous and jumpy, but now that the gun is down, Georges feels slightly more comfortable around him again. “Oh, hey, kid.”

Still trying to catch his breath after getting a gun pointed between his eyes, Georges carefully lowers his hands, eyes wide. “Uh, hey yourself,” he pants, gaze flickering from the gun to his brother repeatedly. “What the hell was that?! And how the shit did you get a gun?!”

William frowns even in the strange situation they’re currently in, a spark of amusement in his eyes to replace just a touch of the fear. “Did you literally just say ‘how the shit?’” 

“Well, I’m a little shaken up and I can’t see you blaming me for that,” Georges snaps in return, shock factor slowly settling down as he cautiously comes around to the front of the bench so he’s facing William, the momentary panic now being replaced with a special brand of flustered, pissed off anger. Damn if William wants to make this into a joke; sneaking out to the park at midnight is pretty serious, and Georges doesn’t even know _why._ “What the hell is going on, William? I already snuck out of the house and lied to Lafayette because of you. I think I deserve an explanation.”

There’s a long moment of hesitation, and then William shakes his head. The flicker of humor has died, the weary nervousness returning in its place. “Sit down.”

Georges eyes the gun beside his brother, carefully crossing his arms over his chest. They face off in the dark of the park, alone with only the skeletal trees and frosted grass to bear witness. “How bout no.” He looks pointedly at the weapon before his gaze flickers back up to William, waiting.

“That’s fair.” William audibly swallows, suddenly looking uncomfortable and nervous all over again. He fidgets, the movement just visible in the darkness, and his eyes flash for a split second as his gaze cuts to his brother. Georges can’t make out much past him, the moon is covered by clouds from the storm that lasted most of the day and there’s no streetlights near them. “Well, here’s the thing, Georges. I need help.”

Georges arches one eyebrow. “Help?”

“Help.”

***

John is driving himself and Lafayette to the park within twenty minutes of leaving the hospital. Hercules hadn’t yet arrived by the time they left, but he and Laf apparently agreed Herc would stay at the house in case Georges and William returned. So now John’s left with a panicked Frenchman and some panicked thoughts of his own, worry for Georges and concern for Laf and the ever present, subdued panic for Philip melting together in his mind to form a giant cloud of stress floating over his conscious. 

Lafayette is muttering away in the passenger seat probably without realizing he’s speaking in French, likely meaning to speak to John but not getting anything across. Meanwhile, John quietly listens to the indecipherable murmurs and drives the familiar streets to Weehawken, silent and accepting but so damn stressed he’s just about ready to shut down his emotions for what’s probably the third or fourth time in 24 hours. 

So much has happened today, and it’s not technically even over yet. 

_Shit_ is probably an understatement by this point. 

***

“How long have you even been here, Will?” 

William looks away from Georges in the darkness, gazing out at the expanse of the abandoned park. His voice is quiet when he speaks. “Since this morning.”

Georges swallows hard, a seed of suspicion slowly beginning to grow in his mind. He almost doesn’t want to continue, to ask what he needs to, but it’s inevitable. “How early this morning?” he asks softly, somehow knowing the response but dreading it regardless. The anger, although definitely still there, is suddenly replaced with a feeling of fragile vulnerability in the frigid darkness, arms becoming less crossed over his chest and more wrapped around himself, even though his expression does not soften. He still stands, refusing to take his eyes off his brother for even a moment. As stupid as it feels, he just has a weird feeling about this, and doesn’t want to risk losing sight of the gun either. “How early, William?” he presses, the other, unspoken question heard within the words as he speaks.

The other boy doesn’t meet his gaze, staring out at the silent, dark space with a sort of exhausted simplicity. “Yeah, G,” he finally sighs, his expression and posture not changing, and something in Georges runs ice cold. “ I was here. When, you know.”

_When Philip was shot._

Georges goes silent.

William’s gaze flickers to his brother to find the boy staring back at him in a mixture of fear, confusion, and stunned anger, dark eyes wide and demanding of an explanation. He’s so unmoving it’s almost as if he’s a statue, frozen and still in the darkness, and then William continues.

“I… Georges, I helped it. I can explain, I swear I can, and you’ve got to get it. It wasn’t my fault-“ William cuts himself off, eyes pleading with his brother to understand. His confession rushes out quickly, harshly. “I worked with Eacker, and I will accept responsibility for that, but it wasn’t my fault. I swear to you it wasn’t my fault.”

_”... what?”_

***

“You doing okay over there?” John asks, his voice slicing smoothly through the quiet. The only sounds are the humming of the motor as they drive and soft breathing, Lafayette having run out of words, French or otherwise, a while back and John just generally choosing silence over small talk. 

Lafayette forces out a humorless bark of a laugh. “I do not think I can be any less okay,” he says bitterly, his voice flat. He stares straight ahead, not meeting John’s gaze.

“I know,” John sighs, the wheel spinning in his hands as he makes a right onto Mercer. “We’re going to find him, Laf. And if we can’t tonight, then we will tomorrow. And if we can’t tomorrow, we’ll just keep looking until we do. Got it?”

“I feel terrible about this,” Lafayette sighs, as if he didn’t hear a word of John’s reassurances. John has a strange feeling that the man is too buried in too much stress and terrible situations to really keep with his reality, so he can’t blame him, but seeing Lafayette look so lost and upset tears at John’s chest in a way that he can’t quite describe. “I took you away from Philip and practically forced you to come and look for my son when your own is shot. I should not have done this.”

“Hey,” John says sharply in reply, his gaze cutting to Laf briefly before returning to the road. His voice is firm, determined to help Lafayette in any way he can. And one of those ways has to be not letting the poor guy blame himself. “None of that now. You didn’t force me into anything, and we both know that. For God’s sake, I had to convince you to let me come.”

“But-“

“No,” he soothes softly, voice taking on a gentler note. “Don’t _do_ that. Take my word for it; all I’d be doing at the hospital is stressing myself out even more. I needed to get out.”

Lafayette’s expression is serious as he studies John profile from the passenger seat, and John can tell that his eyes are softening even in the limited lighting. The topic switches quite easily in the darkness of the car, the current subject exhausted and Lafayette likely searching for a distraction. “How is he?” he asks softly.

“Still breathing,” John says grimly in return, bleeding heart immediately beginning to close up. He’s stressed about this enough already, and although Lafayette probably needs the attention to be switched off of him for a while, he just doesn’t want to get into this all over again. He and Alex have enough experience with that by this point.

“Is that all?”

“All I’m willing to go into at this point and time, yes.”

“That bad, hmm?”

“Yeah Laf. Yeah, that bad,” John sighs, squeezing the wheel clenched in his hands once to ground himself. He knows he shouldn’t be talking about this, that he should be focused on the situation before him and now bringing up topics that will just distract him, but suddenly he has the urge to talk, to mull it over with someone other than doctors and Alex. Without letting himself think about the consequences, he lets out another breath and speaks quietly. “He… Philip got an infection. The gunshot wound was enough to endanger his life, so you can figure out his chances with the infection yourself.”

A stunned silence follows, Lafayette staring at John in a way that’s both appreciated and demeaning. “John…”

“And that’s enough about that,” John breaks in quickly, forcing a grave smile even as his heart grieves for what’s happened, what’s going to happen, what may never happen again. He knew he shouldn’t have even spoken about it; now is the farthest thing from an appropriate time to break. “We’re nearly to the park anyway.”

Lafayette is watching John. Watching with so many thoughts and emotions and words written in his eyes, in his expression, that he so clearly yearns to express but has no idea how. John’s jaw is clenched as he tenses behind the wheel, the topic and everything that’s clearly in Laf’s thoughts far too close to what’s been plaguing his own mind since this morning. The silence tenses and flexes between the two of them, writhing uncomfortably in the heater-warmed air of night, daring both men to break it and only encouraging both of them to let it stretch on longer. 

But even with all the thoughts seeming to float around them, Laf can barely catch a word. 

_”Oui,”_ he says softly.

And the men are silent. 

***

Georges hasn’t said a word since William blurted out his confession, and it’s beginning to get unnerving. 

William has never seen Georges like this. Georges is the _good_ kid. The kid that always smiles and laughs and gets his homework in on time and never, ever gets upset, no matter how bad the situation. That’s Georges. That’s always been Georges. 

And now that Georges is staring at William with such shocked, livid intensity through the darkness, standing silent and still before him, it’s more than a little strange. William finds himself tensing, unsure of what is going to be coming.

“You did _what?”_ Georges repeats, his voice quiet, level, but saturated with a sense of controlled, subdued fury. He still doesn’t move, navy blue hoodie looking black in the night and the pieces falling out of his sloppily done bun (likely done on his way out of the house, William figures, to keep it out of his face how he likes to) graze his shoulders in areas where the bun is particularly loose. He’s still and stoic and furious and looking so not put together but so intensely tightly wound that every inch of him screams the exact opposite of Georges, a strange combination of all the exact things to make the most disturbing version of the kid William’s ever seen. It’s unnerving and strange and terrifying, to see someone so familiar and usually smiling and cracking a joke in this livid, broken state.

“He lied to me,” William immediately defends, voice louder than he means it to be, the abrupt fear of the boy he suddenly feels he barely knows written in his eyes. “He told me it was a mistake, he told me the gun went off accidentally- after Theo, dear _god_ G, he was _terrified-“_

“Two of my best friends are in the hospital because of that guy, William,” Georges whispers. His expression is very, very slowly beginning to transition from stunned to something stronger, something that looks intensely wrong on the kid. “Two of my best friends nearly died because of his actions.”

“I understand, I really do, but you’ve gotta understand in turn-“

“No. No, I don’t. Because if you didn’t understand that Eacker is a messed up, sick man, then I don’t have to understand your explanation.” Georges’ eyes are suddenly shining in the limited light, red in the darkness. He takes a single step towards his brother, but William jerks back as if he’s lunged at him, scrabbling to put more distance between the two of them. “I won’t.”

“Georges, calm down-“

“No!” Georges snaps, and it’s clear that there’s tears balancing in his dark eyes, breathing beginning to speed up as he takes another step forward. William finds himself pressed against the metal backing of the bench, cornered and trapped. Georges is very quickly growing upset, his anger becoming wet and strangely weak even as he yells, his emotions hitting him repeatedly where it hurts. “I _get_ to be upset, William. You helped him, even after he put a bullet through Theo. Don’t tell me to calm down. Don’t you even _dare.”_

William’s gaze is locked on Georges, pleading and panicked. “G, he tricked me, he _lied_ to me-“

Georges’ expression is a combination of furious and anguished, eyes wet and breathing stuttering even as his mouth twists in a snarl, accusing and livid. _”I don’t care_ if he lead you along. I don’t _care_ if you played you like a god forsaken game. _You helped him._ He shot two kids and you _helped him.”_

“He told me that shooting Theo was an accident and he was afraid of what would happen if he turned himself in, Georges! He told me he wanted to meet with Philip this morning to _apologize!”_

“And you _believed him?!”_ Georges cries, voice incredulous. William knows that he’s worked up now and teetering on the edge of hysterical, frantic and desperate and livid mixed in a terrible cocktail of emotions and feelings. 

“I thought he was my _friend-!”_

“And I thought you were my brother!” Georges nearly screams, dragging in a ragged breath as he sobs angrily, his arms dropping from his chest to gesture violently, William pressed wide-eyed and gasping against the back of the bench as he watches the other boy break down in the shattered silence of the park. “I don’t know what kind of _son of a bitch_ you think you are, but you helped the man who _shot two of the most important people in my life!_ How _could you,_ William?! _How could you?!”_ Georges take a ragged breath, pressing a violently shaking hand to his mouth as he staggers back a few steps, as if he can’t even stand to be near William. “How could you? I trusted you, William, and you did this. How could you _do_ this?”

William stares back at Georges, mouth open and struggling for breath as he braces himself against the bench, elbows hooked over the top of the back and pressed against the cold metal almost so hard it hurts. Georges falls back several more steps, swiping at the tears tracking down his cheeks with fast, rough movements even as he stifles another sob. 

“How could you?” he sobs, voice quieting, entire being trembling violently as he almost folds in on himself, wrapping his arms around his body in an attempt for warmth or comfort. His legs shake as he stumbles back once more, vulnerable and broken in the park at midnight. His anger has been replaced with weak helplessness, screaming match over and sobfest ready to start, betrayed and anguished and so damn shattered.

“Georges, please let me explain,” William begs quietly, slowly straightening on the bench. It’s safe now; although Georges has never yelled, never like that, he has cried in the past; at least William has an idea of how to deal with it. With the fury, with the anger, he hadn’t a clue, but with this, at least, he has something to work with.

Georges shakes his head, trembling hand still pressed to his mouth. “No.”

_”Please.”_

***

“Hey, thank you for calling Hercules, by the way. I just think it’s best; he deserves to be in the loop as well,” John comments, just trying to break the silence. He can only handle quiet for so long before he loses his sanity, and he feels like the last conversation ended on kind of a bad note.

Lafayette sighs, the sound long and grating. He’s still struggling to stay in the present, John thinks, and seems to be at a bit of a loss for everything at the moment. “I suppose you are right,” he says quietly, but there’s a strange edge to the words that’s just a bit more than worrying.

John’s eyes cuts to his friend, faint concern in his expression. The hazel hues flash in the streetlights periodically washing over the car. “Why’d you say it like that?” 

Gaze coming away from the window, Lafayette meets John’s eyes, looking confused. “Say it like how?”

“Like you were humoring me with agreeing.”

Lafayette snorts. “I just do not know how much or little Hercules truly deserves anymore,” he says in way of explanation, breaking eye contact to gaze out the window again, still and stoic in his seat. Understanding hides in the tight lines of his posture, but he doesn’t willingly elaborate.

“What do you mean by that?” John presses anyway, confusion and concern saturating his tone. He doesn’t look away from the road in front of him, the headlights washing over the worn backroads with startling light as he drives, but his expression betrays his worry.

“This is not the time for this,” Lafayette sighs in return, expression becoming less pointedly blank and more brooding, more exhausted. “I am sorry, I should not have said anything.” 

“Laf, you’re worrying me,” John says flatly. “What’s going on with you?” 

“Nothing. I promise, I am fine.” 

John frowns, risking a studying glance at Lafayette out of the corner of his eye, the other man still staring determinedly out his window. Something’s up, he knows there’s definitely something wrong. What, though, he’s beginning to get a vaguer idea of. “Hey, Lafayette?”

“Yes?”

 

“What happened with Hercules?”

Lafayette’s response is quick. “I have told you already; he came home drunk several times and we agreed that it would be best he take some time to pull himself together again before returning.” With his voice level and tone confident, it would be easy to believe him, take the fluid statement as truth and move on.

But John’s been his friend for far too long to accept that bullshit.

“But there’s not all that happened, is it?” John asks carefully, keeping a cautious eye on the Frenchman as he ventures the question. “There was something else too.”

“I suppose you can say that,” Lafayette allows, his voice suddenly stiff.

“Talk to me, Laf.”

“I do not think this is the right time, John. We still need to find Georges and Philip is still fighting for his life; the conversation of what happened that night can wait.”

“Lafayette-”

“John.”

There’s a moment of quiet that follows, but then John speaks up again, voice quiet and tentative. He’s careful, unsure of where his friend is at the moment, unsure of the entire situation entirely. “Please, Lafayette. Let me help.”

Lafayette rests his head in his hand, a sigh escaping him. “Hercules attempted to hit me,” he admits, voice soft. His eyes close as he breathes the confession, as if that can save him from the consequences of what happened that night. He still looks lost. “I made him leave to keep Georges and William safe. I refused to let him be around our children while as dangerous as that.” Then, straightening, Lafayette lets out a sharper, shorter sigh, like a firm command to himself to stop there. His expression forcibly shifts from weary to determined, and there’s a certain intensity to it, as if it’s one of the few things keeping the man behind it together. “He apologized immediately of course, and was far from sober at the time. But I do not want to take any chances.”

John is stunned and horrified in the driver’s seat, forcing himself to keep his eyes on the road but so desperately wanting to do _something_ other than sit there and drive. “Lafayette…”

“How far are we from the park?” Laf cuts him off sharply, and something in his voice tells John to stop right there and not press it any farther. 

Accepting the tone with a sense of resigned understanding, John sighs. He knows that he will definitely bring this conversation back up again in the next few days. John has no doubt there will be a serious heart-to-heart coming soon. But now, there are just more demanding matters, and he doesn’t want to push Lafayette past his breaking point. There will be time for this later. “A few minutes, maybe.”

_”Merci.”_

***

Georges knows that he scared the shit out of William when the other boy pulls out the wounded animal voice.

William is not a soft man. He isn’t the kind of guy to be gentle or considerate; he’s always been tough with his parents and even tougher with Georges, making him rough and crude and hard to work with on the best of days. Even before he hit his rebellious teenager phase, he was detached, keeping a very thick wall between him and his family at nearly all times. William’s the exact kind of boy Georges and Philip predicted would grow up to wear black eyeliner and be the emo starving artist in high school, the two then eighth graders actively commenting on his slouched posture and hostile expression when the then fifteen-year-old would pass them in the halls of G’s house. And although William never got his hands on black eyeliner nor bought himself a goth sketchbook, their predictions did come true in the depressed, detached teenager region. 

So to hear William speaking to him like he’s soothing a shot bird is quite a bit more concerning than it is comforting.

“Come on now, sit down,” William’s coaxing, slowly scooting over on the bench to make room for the other boy. “Please let me explain.”

Georges almost immediately is shaking his head. His breathing is still stuttering, shaking in his own arms as he watches his brother warily through red, damp eyes. Yes, he’s had his meltdown, and no, he’s not proud of it, but now it’s time he tries to pull himself back together. He’s not even sure entirely where that entire thing came from either. One moment he was fine- pissed, sure, and more than a little confused, but in control- and the next he was screaming at William through his tears. Georges can’t remember the last time since he cried that hard, since he felt so broken. But it seemed like everything from the shock of Theo to the pain of Hercules leaving to the grieving disbelief of hearing the news of Philip just flooded out at once. The words came almost on their own accord, an uncomfortable heat of an ache burning in his chest as he yelled. But that’s really all gone now, the fight drained out of him and the stunned, bare disbelief in it’s place.

Now he just feels numb and blank and empty, save, of course, for the sense of stunned betrayal.

“G, please,” William pleads, expression tentative and strangely scared. There’s an odd sense of concern written in his eyes as well that Georges doesn’t quite understand. “Just sit down, give me a chance to tell you the whole story.”

But all Georges can see is the gun still residing on the bench on William’s other side, the cool metal nearly black in the night. “No. I’m staying right here, I think.”

William just sighs, immediately giving in. “Fine. That’s fine.” He takes a deep breath, red hair mussed and eyes careful as he begins speaking. “Well, George first found me immediately after Theo was carted off, completely freaked out and without a clue of what to do. He told me that he took the gun for intimidation and then set it off accidentally, the bullet a complete accident. He… he was so _scared,_ Georges, and so damn convincing. I didn’t know what to do.”

Georges is silent, not bothering to say a word. William looks hopeful for a moment, but very quickly gets the message that Georges isn’t going to add his own commentary. 

“He rounded up a couple other guys too to help him out. There was a Lawrence, a Price, I think, and a couple other dudes that I don’t really know. He really needed help- somewhere to stay, somewhere to go, something to do while he figured out what to do about the entire situation. So, I, uh,” William’s eyes plead for forgiveness, “I agreed to let him stay in our shed for a couple of days, just until he figured out something better.”

Georges’ eyebrows raise fractionally. “So you harbored a fugitive.”

“It sounds really terrible that way,” William says, wincing at the words. “It was just a short-term thing. He needed somewhere to hide out, and we don’t use the shed anymore anyway. It was a mistake, but I didn’t know what else to do.”

Georges is again silent.

William goes on with a quiet tone, no longer meeting Georges’ eyes. “So, me and the other guys ran around like crazy after the shooting, trying to keep Eacker safe and figure out what to do with him. You can imagine how against the idea of Eacker meeting up with Philip we were, when he suggested it. But he claimed he just wanted to apologize in person, just wanted to clear the air and let Hamilton know that shooting Theo wasn’t intentional. We thought that would be okay, so we agreed to drive him to Weehawken at dawn this morning and hide in the bushes until he was done.”

“Did you know that he had a gun?” Georges asks flatly, triggering William’s gaze to snap back up to meet his instantly.

“No!” he assures vehemently. “No, we had no idea.”

Nodding once, Georges waits for William to continue.

“So we get there before the sun even rises, right, and the guys and I go and find some places we can hide out but still watch what happening. And we’re just sitting there, watching, as Eacker starts walking towards Philip, who’s just standing there in the cold with a sweatshirt and looking absolutely terrified. There’s a couple people like joggers and shit walking around, but that’s really it. They’re pretty much alone out there.” William lets out a breath, looking uncomfortable. “Right when I think Eacker’s gonna start talking, there’s suddenly all these lights and shouting and chaos and I realize that all those joggers are actually _cops_ and Eacker’s under arrest and I’m just frozen behind a bush. Everything is _insane,_ all yelling and screaming and generally freaking out, and I think, it’s all over. Eacker’s contained, I’m done, it’s all over. But then, right in the middle of the flashlights and the police, Eacker pulls out the gun and shoots Philip, right in the middle of it all. I don’t think any of us were expecting it.”

William’s eyes are haunted as he speaks, Georges feeling sick as he listens. “I saw Philip fall, G,” he whispers, not meeting the other boy’s gaze. “I saw the poor kid go down. The policemen shot down Eacker and everything, but all I could see was Philip, crumpled and bleeding on the grass. One of my best friends was being arrested literally feet away and all I could see was my kid brother’s friend.” He lets out a mirthless chuckle that sounds suspiciously like a sob. “So much was happening; someone screamed, Philip’s surrounded by cops and Eacker’s being taken down and I could barely breathe. And even in all this stuff, I could only think one thing.” William’s gaze flickers up to meet Georges’, expression suddenly anguished and eyes terrified. “All I could think was, was _that was no accident.”_

***

By the time Lafayette and John reach the park, it’s past midnight. 

Lafayette is stoically silent and John is just plain worried. So much is going on, so much has happened and everything is just screwed up, and they still need to find Georges. John has finally decided to shut down his emotions and just turn to flat out business mode, so now he walks through the park with one mission in mind: find the kids and then get the hell out of here at the first chance they’re given.

“Any idea where they would be?” he asks Laf, and the Frenchman shakes his head mutely from where he walks a few feet away.

_”Non.”_

“Then we’d best start looking.”

*** 

“After Eacker got carted off and the ambulance left, me and the other guys got together to figure out what to do. I had figured out that he lied to me the entire time by that point, but apparently the other guys got the whole story from the beginning,” William explains, voice now even again and soft, “so they weren’t surprised. But I was, and I wanted out. They, on the other hand, decided that they wanted to break Eacker out of jail. How, I didn’t even want to ask, I just wanted to run and get out of this situation entirely. Maybe turn myself in. I don’t know, I just didn’t want to be stuck in this hellhole any longer.”

“So you refused?” Georges asks softly, dark eyes careful in the night.

“Of course I did,” William agrees, his flat storytelling beginning to add more emotion and more fear as he continues. Georges listens silently, his mind already spinning to try and keep up and figure out a solution himself as William continues. “I said no, and they got really upset. Like, I thought they were going to beat me up or something. I was terrified. But then they just kind of left me with a warning, said that I’d better change my mind by the end of the day or else. So they snuck out, and I just stayed here.” He looks terrified as he stares at Georges, scared blue meeting skeptical nearly black. “I don’t know what to do, Georges. I need help. You don’t know what these guys are capable of; they knowingly helped out the guy who shot two teenagers and want to break him out of custody. I’m _scared,_ G. I don’t know what to do.” He looks helpless and horrified, eyes wide in the darkness. Georges can barely see anything but him in the night. “What do I do?”

At the exact moment Georges opens up his mouth to speak again, the butt of pistol slams suddenly into William’s temple, the man crumpling instantly onto the bench, unconscious, and Georges freezes in shock. As William goes down, it reveals a boy standing behind him with a halfway interested expression on his face and a gun in his hand, William’s blood glinting on the dark metal. 

“Well, that takes care of that,” he says simply.

And that’s when Georges is grabbed from behind.

***

“Hey, did you hear something?” 

_”Non._ What was it?”

“I don’t even know. I thought I heard a shout or something.”

***

Georges yells in alarm before a cloth is pressed hard over his mouth and nose, the material soaked through with something that desperately makes him not want to breathe in the fumes. He struggles against whoever has him in their grip, panickedly attempting to free himself while holding his breath, wanting to make noise but knowing he can’t risk breathing in whatever’s in that rag. His mind immediately spins, trying to keep up with worry for William and panic at his capture and a frantic attempt to remember the martial arts classes he took for a year in third grade. He’s taken by surprise and absolutely freaked out in the darkness, completely panicked.

“Would you just go down already?” a voice growls in his ear, the arms wrapping around him tightening with the words. William lays unconscious and forgotten on the bench, a thin trail of blood tracking down from his temple from where the pistol broke the skin. “Lawrence, some help here?”

Georges’ efforts are cut off by a swift, powerful elbow to his stomach, effectively whooshing the air of his lungs and forcing him to gasp in a painful breath. Immediately, the fumes rushing into his lungs make his head spin, movements suddenly muddled and slowing without his consent. Another involuntary inhale follows the first, forcing a fog into his mind and a slur to his struggles. He can feel himself fading, the dizziness becoming more and more significant as the mutters of the other men begin to buzz out to static.

The fight drains out of him and Georges is gone. 

***

“Bench!”

Lafayette’s gaze snaps to where John is now running towards, his own gait picking up to nearly a sprint as well when he sees the slumped figure lying across the seat of the bench. His mind whirls, the emotional dialogue from the car beginning to fade out in favor of concern and worry returning with a vengeance for his kids. The kids he so desperately needs to keep safe, the kids that are his everything, the kids that are somewhere in this park and need to be found and brought right back home, where they belong. 

So when it becomes painfully clear that it’s _William_ unconscious on a bench in the middle of a dark, cold park, Lafayette nearly breaks right then and there.

John hits the ground beside William so fast he skids on his knees, sliding across the frozen grass with intense urgency as his medical training takes over. Immediately, he’s got two fingers pressing hard on the side of William’s throat, checking for a pulse as the other hovers just below the boy’s nose, waiting for breath. John’s scrutinizing gaze flickers over the kid sharply, taking in the blood beginning to matt in his hair and his clearly unconscious figure. Then, he lets out a sigh of relief. “Pulse and breathing,” he reports quickly to Lafayette over his shoulder, his voice terribly loud in the silence of the night.

But Laf’s gaze is focused on something just beside William’s crumpled form, sitting there innocently on the wooden seat as if they were be meticulously arranged just so. A neatly folded, white piece of paper with a pistol residing upon it. Even as John begins to examine William, try and figure out exactly what happened, Lafayette is reaching for the letter as if in a trance, brushing off the gun without touching it for any longer than needed and carefully picking up the paper with an automatic movement, the cold biting at him barely noticeable. He pulls the note closer to him, unfolding the sheet with shaking hands to find a neatly typed message printed on the snowy surface. 

A strangled gasp of a sob is caught in his throat as he skims the simple paragraphs.

John’s head immediately snaps up, gaze cutting to Lafayette urgently. “What is it? What happened?” he demands. His expression is intense and concerned, taking in Lafayette’s horrified expression and anguished eyes in a glance. “Laf! What happened?!”

“Georges,” Lafayette finally chokes out, the paper wrinkling within his fingers. “They have Georges.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this? A? Climax? With an actual ending in sight? Would you look at that! 
> 
> Also you guys have _no idea_ how close I came to killing off William. 
> 
> Feel free to yell at me in the comments, or screech and scream incoherently depending how you’re feeling right about now. I’m cool with with whatever (I probably deserve it tbh)
> 
> Thanks so much for reading and have an amazing week!!! <3


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Lafayette are stuck at the police station, Frances makes an appearance, we check in with Alex and Philip and then John gets a phone call from a certain Martha Jefferson. He’s not happy about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!!
> 
> I finally wrote you guys a chapter that’s actually a reasonable size and not the ridiculously long things I’ve been posting lately. I even got this one under 5,000 words. I’m quite proud. 
> 
> Today’s warnings: nothing too heavy, for once. Mentions of kidnapping.
> 
> Beta’d by Jaysong and next chapter Monday!! Enjoy!

John really doesn’t want to call Alex.

Now, he knows he should. He seriously should. He realizes this especially as he sits back in his chair and goes over pretty much everything he did wrong. For one, he left the hospital at midnight, while Alex was still asleep, and left nothing behind but a scribbled Post-It note he found crammed in the corner of a drawer in the nurses station. And even that small note was probably illegible- he was writing fast and using a nearly dry pen. Considering John’s handwriting isn’t spectacular even when he does put time into it, it’d be a miracle if Alex is able to make out more than a few words of the short message. If Alex’s early rising habits haven’t failed him, which is pretty damn likely, John’s got a lot of explaining to do. 

And that doesn’t even begin to touch on Philip. John has no idea how the kid’s doing anymore and he really doesn’t want to consider the possibilities; he didn’t plan on being gone for as long as he’s been when he left, instead thinking that he’d get back to the hospital within an hour or two tops and not miss much of anything. But now, at 5:17 in the morning, he realizes just how wrong that was. 

He realizes how much he doesn’t know, how much he could have missed. 

So yes, John needs to call Alex. 

But… maybe pushing it off for just five more minutes won’t hurt. 

Trying to distract himself from his inability to leave this place and the worries that immediately tie themselves to Philip’s condition and everything that comes with it, John makes himself evaluate his surroundings yet again.

He’s in some region of the police station, having been moved between rooms so many times he can’t remember exactly where he is at the moment. He and Lafayette are sitting side by side in the kind of comfortably padded but cheap chairs you find in dentist offices and occasionally libraries, John occasionally glancing down at the phone in his lap distastefully and Lafayette staring dazedly at the wall like it’s all he can do. The lights above are far too bright for 5 am, but it forces John into staying awake after catching roughly five hours of sleep over the past two days, so he really doesn’t mind it. 

William came to not long after Laf and John found him, groaning into consciousness on the cold park bench as Lafayette panicked and paced around the bench and John skimmed the letter and grimly monitored Will’s vitas. The two of them called the authorities nearly immediately after reaching the park, calling in an ambulance for William and cops for the situation they stumbled upon. Lafayette was nearly hysterical, frantically switching between cussing and praying in French as the two of them waited, while John just tried to stay calm. Composure was important, and still is, really. Staying in control keeps everything as okay as they can manage, and they really could use some okay right now. 

The letter they found demands a hostage exchange. They give back Georges when the police release Eacker. It’s a terribly simple situation and not overly original nor uncommon, but no one around here seems to have the slightest idea of what to do about it. Instead, they just seem intent on getting every last word of information from everyone involved in the situation and just go from there. 

Predictably, William has a moderate concussion, but that’s not keeping anyone from interrogating him alongside everyone else the police can get their hands on. He spent a few hours at the hospital himself, but after being told to stay off of electronics and take it easy for a while, he was immediately delivered to the station for some seriously intense questioning. John hasn’t seen him since. 

They have a couple guys positioned at the Lafayette-Mulligan house as well in case Georges somehow is able to get home, and Hercules is staying with them. He wasn’t any variation of a witness, so he decided to stay back and wait. John isn’t sure if that one is helping Laf or just hurting him further.

And John and Lafayette are trapped at the station until further notice, until questioning’s over, until the police have the slightest idea of how to deal with this whole thing entirely. They could be let out in an hour or they could be let out at 10 tonight. It’s just a shitty situation for everyone, really. 

John stretches in his chair, stiff joints protesting at the movement even as his back screeches in response to the very idea of sitting in a chair again after spending several hours sleeping in one the past night. Lafayette still hasn’t moved beside him, expression blank even as John gives him a concerned look. 

“How’re you holding up?” he asks, voice not especially loud but seeming to be in the strange quiet of the room. He settles back into his chair, dark bruises smudged under his eyes and face unshaved. Neither he or Lafayette are quite looking their best at the moment. 

“I am fine,” Laf responds almost automatically, expression unchanging. His long-sleeved shirt seems to hang on his thin frame, and John has to wonder if the guy’s lost weight recently or something or if it’s just everything taking a toll on him, much like the effects of the past few days on John himself. The poor guy looks so fragile, much more so than John can ever remember seeing him as in the past. Even when Hercules went to rehab for the first time, Lafayette got through it, strong and stoic and persistent. But this is just… different. 

“Do you need anything? Anything I can get you or help you with?” John presses on gently, gaze flickering over the other man’s expression, searching for any hint of emotion or need or thought at all.

_”Non.”_

He sighs in response to that, knowing that he’s not getting any more out of Lafayette at the moment. John picks his phone back up reluctantly, turning the device over and over in his hands and not meeting Laf’s dull gaze. “I think I’m going to go and call Alexander,” he says, voice now softening. Lafayette still doesn’t respond. “I’ll be right down the hall, okay?”

Realizing that Lafayette is somewhat past the point of replying, John squeezes the Frenchman’s shoulder once as he gets up and heads off to find some privacy.

***

When Frances appears on the doorstep, face drawn and expression scared with a single, small suitcase in her grip, the day after the shooting, Eliza isn’t even surprised. 

And when Frances immediately launches herself at Eliza with a bone crushing hug, Eliza is nearly expecting it. 

She staggers back at first from the force of the embrace, but then Eliza is quickly holding the girl just as tightly without giving it a second thought. Although Frances doesn’t have any genetic attachment to Eliza like Angie and Philip do, she grew up with Eliza as much in her life as her siblings. Eliza made a point of this; she’s always been like an aunt to the three kids, and insisted upon coming to every birthday party, every recital, and every sports game for each of them. Eliza’s always been a constant.

So the fact that Frances is currently seeking every last ounce of comfort she can get from her at the moment is almost immediately accepted. 

“Hey, hon,” Eliza murmurs, chin settled on the girl’s shoulder. They still stand in the doorway, the crisp, cool fall air blowing through the open door and Frances’ suitcase forgotten on the porch beside her. “Hey, you’re okay. It’s okay.”

Frances’ only response is to bury her face in Eliza’s shoulder further. Eliza doesn't think she’s crying -not yet, anyway- but she is shaking slightly, trembling in Eliza’s arms. She’s just barely taller than Eliza, and has been since she was fourteen, but still manages to nearly fold herself into the woman’s embrace, seeking the warmth and familiarity she’s had for so long and Eliza giving it more than willingly. 

Eliza doesn’t speak for a long moment, just stroking the girl’s hair (she’s cut it since the last time she’s been in town, Eliza notes quietly, the dark curls stopping at about her ears instead of past her shoulders, like it was the last time she saw her) and waiting for her to pull away. But then the sound of footsteps come down the hallway, stopping abruptly a second later, followed by a started _”Frances?”_

That’s when the girl pulls back from Eliza, red eyes focused on something past her shoulder and a weak smile draped across her face almost automatically. “Hey, Ange,” she says, and Eliza turns around to see Angie fly into the her sister’s arms as if the woman’s the only thing rooting her to this earth, Frances stumbling back a few steps from the force of impact. 

The sisters hold each other in the doorway, both trembling and neither talking for several moments. They seek comfort from each other in the aftermath of tragedy. Eliza steps back, able to see Frances’ terrified yet relieved expression, eyes closed and breathing stuttering, lips pressed into Angie’s shirt, from her position and taking in the way the younger girl clings to Frances like she’s determined to never let her go again. 

Eliza quietly walks away, feeling as if the reunion is too private a moment to continue watching. Hopefully one of them will even remember to close the door. 

***

Alex lowers the phone from his ear when John hangs up, expression stunned. His entire body aches from sleeping in a chair and there’s a serious crick in his neck, but more than anything else, the contents of that conversation chase themselves around in his mind, some of the information being lost in the pursuit of understanding. 

_Georges._

Dumbfounded, Alex turns off his phone and sets it on the mattress beside Philip’s legs, releasing a breath of shock. It just never stops. One thing after another after another… first Theo, then Pip, now Georges… _damn,_ Alex thinks, pressing the palms of his hands to his thighs to ground himself. _Damn._

He doesn’t let himself think much past that. 

His gaze flickers up to Philip, taking in his son’s nearly nonexistent expression that still hasn’t changed, freckles standing out starkly against his pale skin. The heart monitor still beeps steadily at their side, which is a constant reassurance. Pip made it through the night. Yes, he’s still got the infection, and yes, he’s still hooked up to countless machines and drugs and tubes, but he’s also still alive, and Alex will take anything he can get.

Breathing a tired sigh, Alex’s hand settles upon Philip’s. He should be waking up soon, hopefully will begin to stir at some point today. Alex will be staying at the hospital, obviously, while John stays with Laf and figures out the police situation until they’re allowed to leave. Nothing’s for sure at the moment, but they’ve got that much figured out. 

“Shit, kid, it’s all gone to hell without you,” Alex murmurs, thumb grazing the back of Philip’s limp hand. “Seriously. We can’t function with you out of commission. It’s pathetic, really. You go down and we all follow you right to the ground. Every last one of us.” Sighing again, he squeezes his son’s hand once. “When’re you coming back to us, huh? You ready to return to the land of the living? We’d appreciate an appearance, especially soon. Again, we need you around, kid. So having you wake up for even just a little while would be really great, if you feel up to it.” Alex pauses for a moment, a small, weak smile flickering over his face for a split second. “No? Alright, that’s fine too, I guess. We all need some time off every once in a while, and I’d say yours is long overdue. None of us are gonna judge you for wanting to get away for a little while longer. Just take your time, kid.” Alex carefully leans over his son to press a kiss to his forehead, lips lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “Take your time.”

***

When Aaron finally finds the courage to tell Theo that Philip is shot, she’s so instantly upset her doctor is given no choice but to sedate her. 

Aaron nearly breaks down in a bathroom stall.

***

Eliza settles Frances and Angie down at the kitchen table within a half an hour after Frances’ arrival, immediately beginning to brew a cup of tea for each of them and sending up a silent prayer of thanks that it was just her and Angie at home when Alex and John’s eldest showed up on their porch. Things get complicated when there’s more people with necessary in situations like these, so she’s thankful that it’s just the three of them. She busies herself with the simple task of preparing tea as Angie and Frances make conversation over the wooden table. 

“How’d you manage to get a flight so short notice?” Angie’s asking as Eliza hovers around the kettle, pulling ceramic mugs out of the cupboard and trying to remember if there’s any of those coconut chocolate chip cookies Susan made the other day left in the pantry. No, she decides regretfully, Maria took down the last of those the morning after her confessions to her wife, she and Eliza having cookies for breakfast as they talked everything over as the sun rose just outside the windows. 

Frances lets out a breath of an embarrassed laugh at Angie’s question, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear as if she’s not used to it being this length yet. She really does look different even from when she left after spending a few weeks at home this summer, the last time the family saw her. Her hair’s shorter, heeled boots taller and, at the moment, she appears extremely shaken up as a whole. Eliza can’t say she blames her. “Well,” the girl says sheepishly, “there weren’t any flights for a few days, so I kind of drove.”

Angie’s gaze snaps up to meet Frances’ from where she was tracing the grain of the wooden table with her finger, startled and vaguely disbelieving. “You _drove?”_ she repeats, stunned. 

“Yep. Just me and several gallons worth of McDonald’s coffee, Florida to Washington D.C, with about half an hour of thought put into it before I was on the highway.”

“Isn’t the drive, like, 14 hours?”

“Thirteen and a half, but yeah.”

Angie looks bewildered. “How are you still standing?” she asks dumbfoundedly, and Frances shifts uncomfortably. 

“Well, when you find out your kid brother’s shot in the hospital, I guess there’s just something that kind of powers you through,” she says, somewhat embarrassed smile flickering over her face. 

“Kudos to you, then, I don’t know if I’d be able to make that drive myself,” Eliza breaks in, tactfully choosing that moment to sweep in with the tea, placing the brightly colored mugs in front of Angie and Frances and then sitting down at the table with her own. 

Frances pulls the mug closer to her immediately, breathing in the steam and seeming to revel in the warmth. “Does this have caffeine?” she asks hopefully, Angie already taking a tentative sip from her own steaming mug beside her. 

“Not much, but it should do it’s job,” Eliza replies, settling into her own chair and blowing on the dark, hot liquid in her mug to cool it. The steam billows up around her face, the homey scent surrounding her for just a moment before it disperses.

“Thank god.” Frances approaches her tea with a new vigor, taking a gulp of the borderline scalding liquid and doing a remarkably good job of hiding her pain immediately after as it no doubt burns her tongue. Angie snorts softly into her own mug. 

Eliza takes a long sip of her tea as well, too used to the intense heat to be bothered by it, then sets the mug down on the table before her without unwrapping her hands from the soft heat of the ceramic, concerned eyes settling on Frances. Her expression is gentle but worried, knowing that the poor girl’s got to be struggling. “So how’re you doing, sweetie?”

Frances shakes her head immediately, quickly swallowing her hopefully cooler mouthful of tea and putting her cup down as well. “Don’t worry about me. More importantly, how’s Philip?” she returns, anxious worry renewed. She pushes off the concerns for herself far too easily. “Dad called me yesterday morning and has barely given me an update since. What’s going on?”

Eliza hesitates, wondering if she should call the girl out on their genuine concern for her. But, obviously, she’s more worried about her brother at the moment, and Eliza has to respect that, so she lets it slide. “We’re not really sure ourselves,” she admits. “There’s been pretty much radio silence from them throughout last night and most of today.”

“I sent a text to Dad earlier this morning, but he didn’t respond,” Angie speaks up. Her fingers drum along the sides of the mug, suddenly restless and worried. Eliza’s just glad that the girl got even a few minutes of a break with Frances’ arrival- she’s stressed herself out way too much over the course of the past two days. 

“If you’d like to call them yourself, you’re absolutely welcome to, but remember they’re going through a lot right now,” Eliza says gently, reaching out across the table and settling a warm palm on the back of Frances’ hand. “I wouldn’t expect much from either of your dads at the moment. We know Philip got out of surgery safely, but that’s it, really. I can’t promise what’d be calling into.”

Frances sighs, looking reluctant but understanding. “Yeah, okay,” she allows, one hand coming up to tuck that same piece of hair behind her ear again in a nearly unconscious movement. “I get what you’re saying.”

“In the meantime, where are you staying?” Angie pipes up, obviously trying to change the subject. Her dark eyes beg for them to get off this subject they’ve wound up with yet again. 

“Oh, uh, the house, I guess,” Frances responds, looking slightly uneasy as she seems to realize that she forgot to consider that particular part of her unexpected arrival. “My stuff is there and everything, so that’d probably be easiest.” She looks like she’s going to say more, but stops when she realizes Eliza’s firmly shaking her head. The woman’s grip on Frances’ hand tightens. 

“No,” Eliza says vehemently, expression firm. “You’re going to stay here, with us, as long as that’s okay with you. That house is nearly empty and Angie’s already here, so I don’t see why you should go and be alone when you can stay with me and Maria instead.”

Frances actually does an excellent job of hiding her relief, Eliza must admit. “Are you sure?” she says, but it’s clear that she’s extremely grateful for the very suggestion. “I don’t… I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“I’m positive,” Eliza assures, squeezing Frances’ hand gently as she softens. “You’re always welcome here. Besides, Susan adores you. She’d never forgive me if you left on my watch.”

She lets out a weak, breathy laugh at that. “Thank you so much, Eliza.”

Eliza smiles warmly. “Of course, sweetheart.”

“It’s been a while since we stayed in the same house,” Angie comments, a small smile gracing her expression. “I think it’ll be nice.”

Frances smiles back, her expression a touch more watery than her sister’s. “Yeah, I do too.”

“That settles it, then,” Eliza decides. “You can drive by the house and grab some clothes at some point today.”

The girl nods in agreement, looking as if she’s going to say something else. Then, she hesitates. Her free hand seems to drift down to her pocket, where Eliza assumes her phone is hidden. “Uh, would you…” she starts softly, then sighs. “Do you mind if I call my pops real fast? I just want to let him know that I’m here.”

Smiling again, Eliza pulls away in favor of picking up her mug again. “Go right ahead. Let us know what you find out.”

Frances flashes a quick expression of thanks as she pushes her chair away from the table, phone already in her hand as she begins to get up.

“Hey, Fran?” Angie says suddenly. 

Frances pauses. “Yeah?”

“I’m really glad you’re here.”

A soft smile melts across her face after a moment, startlingly genuine in the midst of way too many fake grins and forced laughs. Eliza softens; _they shouldn’t have to be dealing with this._

“Me too, kid,” she says. “Me too.”

***

Lafayette’s just left for yet another round of questioning when John’s phone rings. 

Not bothering to look at the caller ID, John answers it automatically, willing to accept any form of outside communication after a day spent holed up in the police station. He doesn’t have to be happy about it, though, even if any sort of correspondence is seriously appreciated. “Hello?” he says tiredly, expecting Alex or Eliza or maybe Hercules. A telemarketer if his luck really sucks. 

_“John, thank god. We need to talk.”_

Oh dear god.

John heaves a sigh at the familiar voice, cradling his head in his hand and suddenly aware of the fact that he really should have expected this. His eyes slide closed almost on their own accord, trying to summon strength from within to handle this civilly. “Hello, Mattie,” he finally says mildly.

_“So, you and I have got a lot to go over.”_

“Do we now?” John responds wearily. 

_”Yes, in fact. Such as why I had to text Angie when Philip wasn’t responding late last night, and then Angie very calmly informed me that Philip just got out of surgery for a gunshot wound. That’s a pretty big issue right there.”_

John makes a mental note to ground Angie until she’s married (they’ve gone over this time after time, _you tell nothing to Mattie Jefferson no matter the circumstances_ ) and rubs at his temple to try and ease the headache he can already feel forming. “Mattie-“

_“And no, that’s not all, John. There’s more.”_

“You know, I’d much rather you call me Mr. Laurens-Hamilton,” John tries, but Mattie’s already continued. 

_“Because then, after getting that text from Angie, I freaked out and tried to text Georges to see if he knew anything, just to get a scrambled text in response that he can’t talk now, and when I pressed him for information, he called me to quite literally tell me that he was sneaking out of his house and didn’t have time to shut me up and then hung up on me. So then, being the concerned friend I am, I looked up his phone’s location to find that he turned it off on me.”_

“You track Georges’ phone?” John speaks up dryly, knowing that he has literally no control over this child and despising that fact. Mattie only calls him on occasion, and those occasions are typically griped about for hours following. Even if you hang up on her, she just calls you back again and again until you give in, like an angry Doberman repeatedly attacking the postman, day after day until the poor guy just skips that house. That’s really not an accurate comparison, especially because John isn’t given the option of just ‘skipping that house’ no matter how much he wishes differently, but it’s the best John can come up with that the moment. “Is this normal _concerned friend_ behavior for you, Martha?” he continues, tone flat. 

_“Of course I track his phone, and don’t you dare call me Martha, John. Anyway, Georges stopped answering my calls, so I just sat and waited for his phone location to turn back on, and sure enough, he popped back up on my map about half an hour later, and I realize that he’s at Weehawken Park, which is quite strange because I could have sworn that’s where Angie said Philip was shot-“_

“Hold up.” John straightens slightly, exasperation being replaced with fragile interest as he realizes what he thinks Mattie just said. “Did you just say Georges turned his location back on?”

_“Yeah, he did, but anyway-“_

“Mattie, concentrate here,” John urges firmly, suddenly realizing how important this might be and forcing himself to push away his annoyance to instead pursue this possibility. “Can you see Georges’ location now? Where is he?”

_“That’s what I was getting to, because I am sitting at my desk and staring at my computer screen as I speak to you and this right here says that Georges is currently at some forgotten address in the middle of nowhere, which makes no sense, considering that means Georges either lost his phone or is somehow holed up in an old warehouse and this just doesn’t add up and I’d seriously like an explanation, Laurens-“_

“Mattie, listen to me. Get down to the police station with your computer or phone or whatever location tracking app you have immediately, as soon as you physically can. Do you understand?”

_“And why the hell would I do that?”_

“Because this could save Georges life,” John barks into the phone. 

There’s a pause. 

_“I’ll be there in fifteen.”_

Mattie hangs up the phone and John leaps to his feet, clutching his phone tightly and setting off down the hallway at a jog in a search for an officer with the possibilities clouding his mind. Within thirty seconds, Franklin, who’s still working with this case and one of the many officers to already question John and Laf and William, crosses his path. John practically lunges at him.

The man looks pleasantly surprised at John’s appearance. “Oh, John, I was just about to come find ya-“

“Officer, I think I may have gotten new information,” he informs breathlessly, fragile, ferocious hope written in his expression. He speaks quickly and urgently, knowing how much important this could be. “I just got off the phone-“

Almost ironically, John’s phone begins ringing in his hand again in the middle of his sentence. Not even bothering to look at the caller ID, John declines the call immediately and tries to continue. “I just got off the phone with one of-“

The phone rings again. Letting out a huff of annoyance, John declines for a second time, still not bothering to check the screen even as Franklin looks at the buzzing device in concern. “One of Georges and Philip’s best friends-“

The phone rings for a third time. Frustrated with the persistent calls, John glances at the screen to find the contact of _Alexander_ staring up at him. Growling under his breath, he finally answers. “What do you want?” he hisses into the phone with an apologetic glance at Franklin.

_“Are you with an officer?”_ Alex demands, skipping hellos. 

“Yes, so if this can wait-“

_“Put me on speaker.”_

“What-“

_“Now, John.”_

Sending another apologetic glance at the still waiting but still vaguely concerned Franklin, John obliges. “Alright, what is it?” he says quickly, mind too caught up with everything else that’s just happened to willingly waste time on some meaningless conversation Alex wants to have. Especially if he wants to have it with an officer. 

_“Philip’s phone just got a text from a contact named Richard Price.”_

But then Franklin freezes and John knows that this is far from meaningless. 

“Price is a name William mentioned,” Franklin says gruffly, voice slow but expression hesitantly interested. “One of Eacker’s men.”

“What did it say?” John demands, the harshness leaving his phone but the urgency staying.

_“It was an apology and an address.”_

John and Franklin’s gazes snap together within the instant, shocked blue meeting disbelieving hazel. Alexander goes on to read the address and say more, but John can only think of Mattie’s computer, Price’s message, _Georges’ location._

Georges’ location. 

They just found the kid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cheers* something finally went right in this dang thing!!
> 
> HISTORICAL NOTES: Richard Price was Philip Hamilton’s second in the Eacker/Hamilton duel. Lawerence (first name’s unknown) was Eacker’s. Vague historical accuracies! 
> 
> So, I think this story may have two more chapters left in it from here . It’s wrapping up, guys, and I don’t know how to feel about it. 
> 
> Have a really great week and see you Monday!!! Thanks for reading!!!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Georges has no idea where he is and John, Herc and Laf are bound and determined to change that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! (my name is Elder Price and I would like to share with you the most amazing book)
> 
> And here’s chapter 15. Today’s warnings include kidnapping, nonconsensual drugging, basically things of the kidnapping nature. 
> 
> Beta’d by Jaysong and last chapter Monday!!!

Georges wakes up in the dark. 

He comes to consciousness slowly, a gradual process of blinking confusedly in the darkness and trying to remember what happened, where he is, why the ground seems to shake beneath him. The space has barely any light, the few figures stationed around him nearly impossible to make out as he squints and attempts to regain even a shred of certainty of what’s going on. The figures around him watch warily as he tries to gain his bearings in the few seconds that come right after waking, the few confused moments that never quite make sense, staring at him where they sit along the wide half-circle of free space that seems to surround him, just far enough away to be masked by the night. 

It’s only when he tries to move just to find his wrists restrained behind his back that he remembers. 

_Shit._

Georges stops moving immediately, mind racing back to Weehawken Park, to William, to the unknown hands grabbing him, to Will slumping unconscious on the bench. The soaked cloth held over his mouth. The unconsciousness that came after. 

Just then, the room he’s in seems to jerk, throwing him back into the wall he’s tied to suddenly, and he realizes that he’s in a _freaking van._

_Shit!_

Gulping, Georges steadies himself against the wall behind him, pressing into the solid surface and trying not to panic. This is bad. This is really, really _bad._ He clenches his jaw and squeezes his eyes shut, forcing himself to breathe through his nose and pull no more attention to himself as needed. Flipping out is really not going to help anyone. 

Staying determinedly silent and attempting to remember every last one of those stupid life hack posts on kidnapping he's read over the years, Georges tries to center his thoughts, figure out who’s with him, where he’s going, what he’s currently capable of, before he can go full out freak out. Honestly, he’s so close right about now. He’s been flipping _kidnapped,_ and who knows what these idiots want with him. Who knows what they’re going to do to him. 

_Okay, chill. Panicking isn’t going to help you. And please stop shaking, dammit._

Georges lets his head rest back against the wall, trying to calm down, trying to focus. He’s gonna be fine. He’s gonna be _fine._ According to William’s stories, his captors are high school seniors at the oldest, only a year or two older than Georges at the max. 

_High school seniors who are likely more than capable of shooting you in the head,_ an unhelpful voice pipes up in his mind. 

_Encouraging,_ Georges returns dryly. 

Sucking in a shuddering breath, he forces himself to relax. Showing how terrified he is isn’t going to do him any favors. Georges lets his legs stretch out from where they were curled up against his chest, shifts so that he’s sitting in a more comfortable position with his hands still tied behind his back, releases the breath and just manages to still his trembling. Even giving the illusion of confidence has to count for something. He’s not gagged, miraculously, and although his wrists are fastened to the wall behind him and his ankles are restrained with what he thinks are zip ties, the situation could be worse. _Relax._

The shift in the restraints attracts the attention of the person sitting closest to him in the limited space, the large teenager’s gaze flickering over to him with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. The kid, looking to be around eighteen and burly from what Georges can make out of him, watches him cautiously, not moving and seeming to dare Georges to try anything. 

Finally, Georges opens his mouth slightly, hesitating. “Where are you taking me?” he asks softly, voice rough and hoarse. All gazes seem to snap towards him simultaneously, some surprised and others pissed, from various vantage points around the space. No one else speaks as the van rumbles along beneath them, but Georges knows he’s pulled the attention of the other kids in the van to him as well now, and everyone is suddenly on edge and poised to spring all over again. It’s still painfully dark, but he can just make out the figures of three people in the blackness, with one obviously driving. Four people at the least. Georges’ heart sinks. 

“So we didn’t kill him,” a voice breathes in relief from across the van, and a flash of movement suggests someone hitting the boy behind the voice to shut him up. There’s an exhale of apology and surprise in response, but even that is cut off quickly, the voice going silent. 

There’s another shift of movement, but this one’s slighter, more calculated, meant for intimidation towards Georges and not punishment towards one of their own. A gruff, severe voice speaks a moment later, careless but intense. “You’re Will’s kid?” the person beside him asks, suggesting he agrees to this or else. 

Georges is silent.

The knuckles collide sharply with Georges’ jaw, snapping his head to the side and forcing a grunt from deep within him, pain blooming across the side of his face rapidly as a burst of copper explodes in his mouth. 

_They aren’t afraid of using physical means to get information out of me,_ Georges realizes. 

_SHIT!_

The man beside him settles back into his prior position, as if he can’t be bothered by Georges’ reluctance but isn’t exactly happy with it either. He looks disinterested but annoyed, arms crossed over his chest, leaning back against the side of the van where Georges can just barely see him. “Will’s kid?” he repeats, tone warning. 

Swallowing hard, Georges reluctantly nods in confirmation, hanging his head to try and protect himself from any more blows that may come as his blood seems to pound where he was struck. “I’m his brother,” he admits quietly. 

The man beside him makes a sound of acknowledgement at the response. He seems to relax into the van wall, looking strangely comfortable in the situation but remaining tense, like a coiled spring ready to lunge. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he says gruffly, not looking at Georges. “Of course, I would have much rather had the Hamilton girl, but you’ll do just fine yourself.”

Georges doesn’t raise his head, but his gaze snaps up. “H-Hamilton girl?” he stutters, before he can stop himself. 

The boy from before, the smaller, slighter one that had worried they killed Georges, nods, the action just barely visible. “Yeah. The freshman, real smart. Pretty, dark-haired little thing,” he explains, but a hissed _Price_ and another sharp flash of movement shuts him up again before he can explain any more. 

_Angie._

Georges gulps, reminding himself to breathe as the information sinks in. 

_They were going to take Angie._

For the first time, Georges is grateful that he’s the one in this van. 

Suddenly, the vehicle rocks to a stop. The burly man looks up towards the cab, going from sitting to kneeling with a calculated movement. He looks back towards Georges with a smile without warmth. “Looks like we’re here.”

That’s when he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a syringe. 

Georges freezes.

He understands immediately, knowing immediately that he’s going to get that thing and whatever it contains stabbed into him and feeling his heartbeat skip as a result of it. He knows it will incapacitate him instantly. Take all control and ability from him in the most terrible way, take the last chance he has at getting out of this within a reasonable time period, take every last ounce of independence and em>hope, dammit, that he’s just managed to scrounge up. 

_No, god no, please._

When the man reaches towards him with the hypodermic, he automatically recoils as much as he can into the wall, the fear that had gradually died down igniting again with enough power to throw him into a full blown panic attack as his mind seems to short circuit. Immediately, someone else grabs him from his other side, keeping him from lashing out. 

“Come on now, stop struggling, it will only hurt for a moment,” an oily voice hisses from behind him, a hand tangling in his hair and forcing his head to tip to the side, exposing his neck. Georges is nearly hyperventilating by this point as the bigger man uncaps the needle. He struggles in his captor’s grip, in his restraints, even as he realizes just how _pointless_ it is, even as his breathing quickens and the panic floods through him. 

The man eases the tip of the needle into Georges’ neck anyway, releasing a cold, burning liquid that seems to flame through his system with the single sting of a prick. The teenager pulls away once the syringe is empty and Georges slumps, his strength leaving him rapidly and eyelids growing heavier by the second even as he knows that _it’s over, it’s done, nothing can be done now, nothing can be controlled._ The guy who restrained him from behind takes his hand from Georges’ hair as the last kid seems to remain hiding in the corner, not coming closer than a few feet radius at all times. 

“There you go,” the oily voice says, stroking his fingers through the hair he had grabbed as if in apology, Georges distantly revolted by the motion but completely unable to stop him as his consciousness fades. “Good. Very good.”

Georges can only just feel a pair of arms under him, forcing him up from the floor of the van, before he gives up on consciousness entirely.

***

“We’ll head out within a few hours,” Franklin explains, sitting at a conference table and looking between John, Laf and Hercules with a combination of pointed firmness and understanding sympathy that John figures he’s gotten down to a science after so many years of doing his job. The overhead lights are bright and John feels like he’s not going to be able to sleep until next Tuesday at the earliest, still worked up and ready to go to a nearly twitching fault. “Miss Jefferson’s tracking paired with Price’s address give us a pretty damn good idea of where Georges is, but we need to know what we’re walking into before we waltz right up to this warehouse. A few hours will let us get our ducks in a row and get an idea of what we’re dealing with here, then we’ll head out to go bust these punks and get your kid back. Yeah?”

“That sounds reasonable,” John says even as he tries to calm back down, but it’s just not his place to agree to any of this and he knows it. Hell, the only reason he’s in the room at all is that Franklin insisted upon it. 

And looking at the determination written across Lafayette’s expression and the fierceness in Hercules’ posture, John can’t blame the guy for wanting backup. 

“Are we going to be able to come with the force?” Lafayette asks carefully, leaning forward onto the table with a focused intent, his gaze never leaving Franklin. His tone and expression imply the exact response he wants. “Will we be allowed to be there with Georges, when you retrieve him?”

Franklin hesitates, and it’s just enough time to let John see the slight shift in Lafayette’s expression that’s so miniscule yet so important, turning from determined to stubborn. John knows that the poor policeman is pretty much doomed. 

John sits between Hercules and Lafayette on one side of the conference table, playing it safe considering he’s currently unsure of how much Herc is currently capable of and how much Laf can handle. He still hasn’t forgotten the conversation he and Lafayette had on the drive to Weehawken, even if Laf has shrugged off every attempt he’s made to continue the topic since, and still hasn’t even neared forgiving Hercules for it, so he can’t imagine what Laf himself is going through right now. So he watches both of them carefully even as his knee bounces under the table, observing of any and everything emotion that flickers across their faces. 

But right now, they seem to be mirroring each other, the same firm persistence in every damn feature as they stare down Franklin. 

Again, John really can’t blame the guy for wanting backup.

“Officer?” Lafayette prompts, tone low and expression dangerous. Laf is usually a pretty passive, friendly man, but even John has to admit the guy is borderline terrifying when the safety of his kid enters the picture.

Letting out a sigh, Franklin shakes his head. “I’m real sorry, but we don’t like civilians to be anywhere near these situations as a rule. We’ve made mistakes in the past.” He gives a pointed, apologetic look to John, who finds himself stiffening under Franklin’s gaze, defiantly breaking eye contact and definitely not willing to get into that topic now. “We just don’t want you, _any_ of you, getting hurt.”

Lafayette’s lips thin, eyes hardening. “You truly expect us to sit here and wait for news while the police go to find our child, just like we have for the past nearly eight hours?” he returns flatly. 

“No, no, of course not,” Franklin says quickly, looking flustered. He shuffles the flies sitting on the desk in front of him, fidgeting and searching for something to do. “Of course not. You’d be welcome to wait for us at the hospital.”

Hercules eyes widen, eyebrows raising just enough to plainly discourage Franklin to continue. _”Hospital?”_ he repeats.

The cop sputters and sets the papers back down, usually far more composed than this but clearly somewhat overwhelmed with the combination of these two coming at him. John knows how that goes; Laf and Herc are the exact kind of power couple that can simultaneously inspire and terrify you, capable of both tearing you apart piece by piece when you do something stupid and spending the night patching you up after the world does it before they’re even given the chance. 

So yes, even as they refuse to meet each other’s eyes and don’t exchange a word, John knows in an offhand, off topic way that they’re going to be just fine, musing about the mechanics and persistence of their relationship as they grill the poor cop with a combination of demanding questions and snappish responses. Yeah, they’ll get through this. 

Franklin, though, he can’t be sure will come out unscathed. 

“Well, no matter what state Georges is in when we locate him, we will have him taken to a hospital for precautionary purposes,” Franklin is trying to explain, flustered and looking overwhelmed, and John finally takes pity on the poor man. 

“No,” he says simply, and Franklin lets out a sigh of relief at the responsibility taken off his shoulders. 

“Thanks, John.”

John sits back in his chair then, rubbing a hand over his face and catching the stubble from two days of not shaving. “So, you leave in a few hours,” he says tonelessly, pointedly pulling the conversation back to it’s intended purpose and not giving Laf and Herc a chance to jump at the plain denial all over again. “What can we do in the meantime?”

Franklin frowns. “Not much, I’m afraid,” he admits, spreading his hands against the surface of the table, bracing his palms against the wood. “Sleeping wouldn’t hurt you. Getting some food isn’t a bad idea either. And, I mean, you can certainly pray, but that’s really about it.”

Not really the answer John was looking for. 

***

When Georges wakes up for the second time, he’s in a warehouse. 

He’s in a warehouse and he’s tied to a chair in the middle of this gigantic room and there’s no one in sight and he doesn’t know how much time has passed and literally all he can do is just mutter _shiiiiiiiiiiiiit_ under his breath. 

It’s not a good situation. 

At first, he just takes in his surroundings to distract himself from the concern immediately stirring in his stomach and try and see if he remembers anything since the van (he doesn’t). It’s a large room in what he’s nearly sure is a warehouse, the floor is smooth cement and the walls the thin type of metal that does nothing for insulation, which draws him to realize the nearly frigid temperature in here. There’s nothing else here, no boxes or furniture or equipment, from what he can see. Just Georges, tied to a chair, alone in a wide, empty, brightly lit warehouse.

Carefully, he tries to move slightly in his chair, determinedly not letting himself go into a full blown panic attack just yet. But the rope around his middle holds fast, and the zip ties attaching his wrists and ankles to the armrests and legs of the chair are so tight they nearly cut off circulation. He still isn’t gagged, somehow, but he’s completely alone and completely bound.

_I knew I shouldn’t have left the house last night._

Finding himself completely powerless in this chair and entirely unable to help himself in any way, the same embers of panic dying low in his mind spark back to life all over again despite his best efforts to keep them dormant. He’s stuck, and trapped, and helpless and dear _god,_ he’s freaking kidnapped. _Kidnapped._ That only happens in shitty soap operas and dramatic books and overly detailed news reports, not real life. Until now, that is, which is enough to send Georges tumbling over the cliff of self control within itself. 

He feels like he’s got some pretty good reasons to panic, personally. 

Georges tries to pull in a long breath to break up his downward spiral, steadying and reassuring even as he shakes slightly in his restraints. He’s going to get out of this. He’s gonna. He’s gotta. That much he’s certain of. And yes, there might be a rescue team coming soon (he seriously hopes so, at least) but there’s none yet, which leaves everything up to him until further notice. 

Glancing around the room, Georges attempts to figure out anything he can use to his advantage. Obviously, he’s unable to move or anything, but he still has his voice and a large, empty room.

Time to get creative. 

“HELLO?” he yells tentatively, knowing that, if he can just get some people in here, he might be able to get some answers. It’s a risky move, but what else can he do? It’s either stay here in silence and worry or try to attract someone’s attention, and those are really his only two options. 

He waits for a long moment, but no answer comes. 

“IS ANYONE HERE?” he tries again. His voice echoes around the space, the words bouncing back at him again and again and fading with each reverberation, mocking him in their emptiness. 

Nothing. 

“HELLOOOOOOOOO-“

“Would you shut the hell up already?” a pissed off voice shouts in return as a door slams open across the warehouse, heavy thuds of footsteps trailed by a lighter, more tentative presence momentarily shattering the silence. Even their footfalls appear to echo as they stalk towards him. Georges very quickly recognizes the speaker as the oily dude from the van and the kid hiding behind him as the nervous one that cowered in the dark for most of the ride over, the warehouse surprisingly well lit in a notable contrast to the van. “We left you ungagged, but that can always change,” the kid continues, slowing to stop a few feet away from Georges’ chair and the kid beside him doing the same. 

Georges thins his lips, looking up at the two teenagers standing over him in quiet defiance combined with a strange sense of satisfaction that he actually got them to come. “Where am I?” he asks quietly, voice hoarse but tone firm. 

“As if we’d actually answer that,” Greaseball retorts flatly. The kid next to him is silent and jumpy, looking between the slick kid and Georges with careful eyes every few seconds. “Are you really just going to sit there and waste our time more?”

“What do you even want with me? Why am I here?” 

Greaseball crosses his arms over his chest, looking down at Georges with intense carelessness. “We need you for a trade, kid.”

“A trade?”

“Yeah. Now please shut up before I do it for you.”

Shifting in his chair in the small space he’s allowed, Georges looks up at them again, unsatisfied but hesitant. He’s pushing it here, he knows, pushing it in a bajillion different ways, but he’s desperate for information and knows everything he can get out of them could be seriously helpful to his escape or rescue, depending on what happens first. “I just want to know.”

Greaseball’s expression doesn’t change. 

Georges takes a breath. “I AM KIDNAPPED AND TIED TO A CHAIR IN THE MIDDLE OF A WAREHOUSE-“

The impact that comes is so jarring and forceful it nearly knocks the wind out of Georges, shutting him up immediately even as a hand claps over his mouth to further the point. He gasps at the little air he can, doubled over all that he’s able to in his restraints. 

“Lawrence wasn’t wrong when he said we’d be needing quite a few of these,” Greaseball mutters, and Georges just sees the flash of the needle coming out of the quiet boy’s pocket just as he realizes he just made a very, very big mistake. 

Just like before, a hand forces his head to the side as the prick of the needle pushes a dull, spreading burn through his neck and Georges is gone within seconds. 

_Bad move._

***

John rests his chin on his fist, elbow propped up on the armrest of his chair and knee bouncing subtly but noticeably. The empty coffee cup abandoned on the small table beside his chair can be credited for his restlessness and the situation itself for his thoughtfully brooding expression, still wearing the faded sweatshirt and old sweatpants combo he’s had on since he first got that call yesterday morning from Alexander, face unshaven and hair a frizzy mess of a ponytail. 

That’s why it’s somewhat concerning that he actually looks like he’s in _good_ shape compared to Hercules and Lafayette, sitting on either side of him in uncomfortable silence in the nearly empty hospital waiting room. 

Lafayette still looks lost, staring off into space with dull eyes and expressionless features. Hercules grabbed him a sweatshirt before he left the house earlier, but Laf still hasn’t put it on, the material draped forgotten and ignored over the armrest of his chair. His hands fold in his lap, the man as a whole completely, strangely still in the oddest, most unsettling way. 

Hercules, meanwhile, appears to be constantly walking the line between guiltily apologetic and bitterly pissed. His right hand has come up to rest on the lower half of his face in a weary, exhausted motion, slouched in his chair even as his expression stays sharp and alert. John catches him risking glances at Laf every few minutes, but he’s yet to say anything to his husband or even attempt to break the silence. A cheap coffee cup is in his free hand, half filled with cooling liquid with the base of the cup resting on his thigh, the drink somewhat abandoned as it’s owner lets out a grating sigh. 

No, they aren’t in great shape right about now. 

John’s gaze flickers over to Hercules after checking on Laf, quickly taking stock of how his friends are doing with all of this. Franklin and the rest of the police force on this case left for the address Mattie’s tracker and Price’s text gave them about an hour ago, and now they’re just, basically, stuck at the hospital until they return with Georges. No one's really sure how long this is going to take, the duration of the mission depending on a lot of undetermined factors. So, John’s long resigned to sitting in this empty waiting room indefinitely, alone with Laf and Herc and the constant, subdued worry for the kid that seems to spike up repeatedly at random intervals with no warning. 

He’s considered trying to sneak out and see Philip and Alexander, but John’s actually not sure if he’s really allowed to leave this room, and they’re across the building anyway. Besides, he’s not sure if he’d be comfortable leaving Lafayette and Hercules alone together with no one to buffer the constant tension between them. They’re going to have to make up sometime, but John doesn’t know when or how, so he’s rather play it safe for now. 

“More coffee?”

John’s jarred back into the room by Hercules’ low voice, picking his head up from his hand to glance at his friend’s questioning expression, the other man holding up his own coffee cup in way of explanation. 

Letting out a sigh of thanks, John nods and reaches for the empty container beside him. “Yes, actually. Decaf would be great.” Once he hands over the paper joke of a cup, John carefully touches Laf’s arm, getting his attention. “Coffee?” he asks softly when the Frenchman startles at the contact, eyes wide and posture suddenly tensed. “Hercules is getting us some refills.”

Lafayette looks towards his still full coffee, the cheap cup untouched with two sugar packets still thrown on the table beside it. “I am okay, I believe. No thank you.”

Hercules nods once before turning and walking out of the room with an empty cup in each hand, off in a search for caffeine and some air.

John finds himself in silence again as soon as Herc leaves, shifting in his chair in an attempt to find a more comfortable position as Lafayette seems to settle right back into his blank, unreachable demeanor he had before John jarred him out of it. Pulling out his phone, John turns it on briefly to check for any notifications but finds the screen mockingly blank, and puts it back in his sweatpants pocket with a sigh. 

“Do you think I should reach out to Hercules first or let him come to me?”

His gaze snapping to Lafayette in vague alarm that he actually spoke without provocation, John blinks in surprise. “Uh,” he says eloquently. “About what happened, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Uh, wow. I think that's pretty up to you, Laf, I don’t really know.”

Lafayette nods as if that is understandable, not meeting John’s gaze and eyes still lifeless even as a touch of thoughtfulness colors his tone. “Yes, but I do not know what I should do. We need to speak this over, but neither one of us are speaking.”

“Just give it time,” John finally settles for, not finding the lame statement near good enough but knowing that it’s better than nothing. “There will be time for all of this, okay? Don’t rush into anything.”

“I will not,” Lafayette agrees. “I just do not know how to approach this, I suppose.”

Releasing a somewhat clueless sigh, John shakes his head. He watches Laf carefully even as the Frenchman’s gaze doesn’t move from the wall, unsure of how to handle this but knowing he needs to be at least vaguely reassuring. “I don’t either, man,” he confesses apologetically. “But I think you will, sometime. It’ll work out. It always does, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” Lafayette says almost musingly, expression unchanging. “I suppose it does.”

***

Georges is regularly dosed with drugs of increasing strength over the coming hours, waking up extremely briefly or not at all between doses as the day goes on. 

He doesn’t remember anything after waking up in the warehouse.

Those memories from the dark, cold time in the warehouse will likely never return, even in the future. 

God knows what’s in those needles. 

***

John’s the first to hear it, those few, long hours later in the empty waiting room. 

It’s almost an automatic thing from over twenty years of being a nurse, being able to pick out the exact sounds even at a distance that means an ambulance is pulling into the emergency room, someone being rushed into the hospital for whatever messed up thing that’s happened to them. The squeak of a gurney, the muddled yells of nurses over doctors, the offhand beeping of machines and the thuds of equipment and people being transferred from ambulances to the building. For God’s sake, it’s the soundtrack of John’s life by this point. He probably should recognize it. 

Now, it’s not the first time this has happened today. There’s been plenty of ambulances and emergency room appearances, each time chiming pointedly in John’s mind with the familiarity of it even when he wasn’t actively paying attention. But this time, something’s different. Something he can’t quite put his finger on but screams out that this is important. 

Something that makes his hand dart out and close around Lafayette’s wrist in anticipation, Hercules immediately tensing as well at the motion as all three of their gazes snap to the doorway in an unspoken, mutual understanding of what’s about to happen. 

Within seconds, the door slams open and Franklin bursts in, breathless but not looking particularly grieved, which John takes as a good sign. The three men flash to their feet immediately, Hercules’ expression intent and Laf’s stubbornly determined while John is just plain concerned. 

There’s a moment of quiet after Franklin appears, the officer catching his breath and taking in the sight of the men standing, waiting, with wide eyed stares that demand to know exactly what happened and bated breath. 

“He’s been drugged, but he’s okay,” is all the cop is able to get out, and then John and Lafayette and Hercules are all crashing down the hallway in the direction John knows the ambulance would have come in at and they reach the crowd of medical personnel and there’s Georges unconscious on a gurney and Hercules is at his side and Laf is crying and both of them are jogging to keep up with the medical team as they whisk the kid off to the depths of the hospital and John is left breathless and alone in the whirl of movement of the emergency room, standing still and single even as the paramedics and nurses spins around him in a constant tornado of calculated chaos. 

That, while watching Laf and Herc disappear down a hallway with their son between them and finding himself suddenly unneeded, is when it all crashes down on John that _his_ kid is in this hospital too, with a life threatening infection and gunshot wound. He nearly stumbles on his feet, suddenly finding himself a mix of horrified at himself for not considering this and relieved that Georges is alright and flat out, intense, burning _panicked_ about his kid and his kid’s issues that he somehow managed to overlook since the rest of this shit came into play. 

Just then his phone begins ringing in his pocket. 

Scrabbling for the device almost automatically, his pulls it out to be greeted by Alexander’s contact. He accepts the call instantly, putting the phone to his ear even as he stands in the middle of the medical squad from Georges’ rescue, really not belonging there but not finding the strength to move, staring pointlessly with wide, scared eyes with his free arm hanging listlessly at his side. “Alex?” he demands immediately, the concern coloring his tone to the point of his voice being harsh, the forgotten worry reigniting with a bang.

_”Nah, not quite,”_ a tired, achingly familiar voice returns, hoarse and exhausted yet still managing to hold a hint of a smile. _”Hey, Dad.”_

John chokes on a sob, a smile breaking out across his face unthinkingly as his knees nearly buckle beneath him, a suddenly shaking hand coming up to cover his mouth in stunned, unbelievingly relieved surprise. “Oh my god, Philip,” he gets out, finding himself blinking back tears as his chest burns in relief.

_“Now you’ve got it.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That end kind of cliffhanger wasn’t even near necessary but my birthday’s in like two days so I think we can let this one slide. 
> 
> Next week’s the epilogue... 
> 
> Thanks for reading and have an incredible week!!
> 
> EDIT 2/5/18, PLEASE READ: I’m missing this week’s update due to suddenly having the flu most of last week and only just now recovering, ending in the epilogue being nowhere near finished. It will instead be posted MONDAY, NEXT WEEK, 2/12/18! See you guys then and sorry for the short notice!


	16. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exactly the title.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, guys. This is it. The epilogue’s finally here. 
> 
> The end notes will be way longer and have way more stuff, but I’m going to keep this note short. Beta’d by Jaysong and thanks for reading!
> 
> Enjoy!!

“Ugh, I’m dead.”

“Too soon, my dude. Too soon.”

“Sorry. But, like, seriously, I am _so_ done with this hospital. This boredom is killing me.”

“Hey, don’t forget about the bullet that almost took you out before you even had the chance to get bored. It deserves at least some of the credit for your untimely demise.”

“Shut up, Mattie.”

Philip cracks open one eye from where he’s flopped dramatically against the pillows of his hospital bed, a low groan grating up from his throat. “How the hell do people with long-term shit manage to survive this for so long?”

“Language!” a passing nurse chirps into the room, too young to be truly bothered but old enough to enjoy giving Philip a good-naturedly hard time at any possible point and time. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Philip amends irritably after her, the nurse’s bark of a laugh trailing down the hallway. He lifts a hand to run through his hair, wisely using the one without an I.V. still secured in it, and lets out another sigh. Honestly, he’s not really that messed up over this, but his complaints do a good job of filling the silence and even makes his friends laugh a little, which is always a plus. “Yo, Theo, you’ve been doing this a lot longer than I have and you’re still sane. Give me some tips?”

Theo laughs a little from her bed a few feet away, looking amused. Mattie sits on top of the covers beside Theo, legs stretched out in front of her, back propped up with pillows and looking overall strangely comfortable even in her jeans. “If I was you, I’d just be happy you’re out of the ICU,” she reminds lightly. “You did only get out yesterday.”

“Actually, you aren’t wrong,” he agrees, tone as if he’s admitting something he’d rather forget about. “That was way worse.”

“And now we get to see you without breaking several rules,” Georges pipes up thoughtfully, laying across the foot of Philip’s bed with his head hanging off the edge of the mattress, hair trailing down with the sheets as he stares across at the girls. His knees are bent so his socks plant on the bed, hands resting on his stomach. “Oh _joy_ for us.”

Philip snorts. “Obviously, you missed me terribly.”

Mattie is pulling her hair into a puff of a ponytail, narrowly missing Theo with her elbow as she scrapes her semi-explosive curls into a somewhat reasonable style. “We really did miss you, you know,” she says conversationally, finally satisfied with her hair as she sits back again against the pillows, Theo looking relieved at not having to dodge anymore unintentional limbs to the eye. “It was just the three of us, with all this space, and all this peaceful quiet, and way less snark, and not a single disagreement, I mean, you’d really think we were absolutely lost without you to guide us-“

“With you here, there had to be snark,” Philip shoots back, voice haughty but a small smile on his face, glad the teasing’s beginning to return after so much time of being treated as if he could break at any given moment. It’s been a good week since he was shot, Theo getting moved out of the ICU quite a few days ago while Philip was stuck there longer. His dads hung out with him, of course, and Angie, when she wasn’t at school, and even Frances before she left for Florida again, but _god,_ he missed his friends. Especially after the whole Georges fiasco (the details of which he managed to coax out of a clueless nurse when everyone else refused to tell him anything, much to John’s horror), he needed to see them. He needed this. 

He didn’t really need Mattie’s occasionally accidentally hurtful remarks quite as much, but he can deal. 

Theo snorts a laugh, eyes showing her smile. “I assure you, there was,” she cuts in, nudging a playful elbow into Mattie’s ribs with the words. “I believe there was something about me being an attention hog, hmm?”

Mattie squirms, batting Theo away and edging closer to the edge of the bed. “It was a _joke,”_ she complains, and then Georges rolls over to lay on his stomach, still at the foot of Philip’s bed, with a quirked eyebrow. 

“And something about me getting beat up as bad as I did as if it was my idea?” he says, propping his chin up on his fist. “I seem to remember that as well.”

At Philip’s somewhat startled expression, somewhere between confused and instantly pissed, Mattie immediately protests, not losing her cool but looking borderline flustere regardless. “You didn’t see him!” she insists, gesturing vaguely at Georges and the bruise that still spreads across his face, faded but definitely noticeable. “He had a legit shiner. I couldn’t _not_ say something.”

Philip opens his mouth to respond, but John tactfully picks that moment to stroll into the room. He’s wearing a pair of purple scrubs today, looking well-slept and put together for the first time in several days. A smile rests in his eyes even as he stops in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest and expression questioning. “What was that?” he asks, amusement in his tone suggesting he heard every word of the conversation but still offering an opportunity to properly explain. 

At that, Philip’s vague alarm melts into a somewhat guilty smile. “Nothing, Dad.”

“Mmhmm.” John’s gaze flickers over the other kids, taking in a status report with fast accuracy. “You guys all doing okay? Mattie’s homework done, Philip and Theo feeling okay, G good on ice and everything?”

A smattering of variations of _yep_ follows, and John smiles, satisfied for the time. “Okay. Just call me or Alexander if you need anything.”

“Got it. Thanks, Mr. Laurens-Hamilton,” Georges says easily in return, still lying prone on Philip’s bed with his chin still resting on his hand. 

John smiles briefly again, turning and taking his leave with another confirmation that they’ll call or text if anything comes up. 

Soon after he’s gone, Georges and Mattie immediately start up with yet another stupid argument, bickering over the most stupid of things just to fill up the silence. 

Philip catches Theo’s eye, and they share a knowing smile, quiet but understanding, as John disappears down the hall. 

Because they know why John’s insists on regularly checking in with them. They know why Aaron hovers around them like he’s terrified they’ll disappear the second he turns his back. They know why Lafayette calls each hour on the hour just to see how they all are. They know why Alex watches each nurse as they walk in like he’s steeling himself for the worst. They know and they understand.

They scared them. They scared them so badly that their normal is going to be compromised for who knows how long, while the parents calm down again and realize their kids are just fine. 

So they really can’t protest the helicopter-parent tendencies. They actually get it, even, because they’ve been helicopter-parenting each other ever since everyone’s been conscious and responsive again. 

But right now, the argument is about the advantages of socks and sandals and they desperately need to put in their opinions before Mattie and Georges kill each other. 

They’ve spent enough time in the hospital lately. 

***

Alexander unapologetically bounces back into the office the day after Philip is declared out of the woods, once the kid is declared _going to be fine._ Aaron’s already there, sharing an identically relieved smile and welcoming Alex back with open arms.

Washington takes both Alexander and Aaron out for drinks that evening in celebration, toasting to Theo and Philip in a strong tone that suggests his relief alongside the other men. 

Alex can’t remember the last time he’s smiled that much.

***

Eliza’s going to miss the girls. 

Frances has already left, having to hurry back to Florida as soon as it was certain Philip was going to pull through. She was grateful for the hospitality, but he couldn’t afford to miss any more classes, so she drove back at the first chance she got. 

Angie, on the other hand, just left this morning, because now that John and Alex are spending nights at their house again she can get back to her normal routine. She’s doing better now that Georges and Philip are both safe.

But, still, Eliza’s going to miss them. 

And, of course, Maria picks up on it.

“Hey, hon. You doing okay?”

Eliza turns at the sound of her wife’s voice, having been standing in the doorway as Alex drove Angie to the hospital with him, the car long gone but Eliza still watching the street. It’s cold out, and her sweater doesn’t do much against the wind, but she got distracted, quite simply. 

Maria stands in the foyer behind her, one thumb hooked in her jeans pocket and understanding hint of a smile on her face as a draft blows into the house. “It’s cold out there. Come on in.”

“I will in a few minutes. It’s pretty. I never realized that, how pretty it is.”

Smile growing fractionally, Maria walks up beside Eliza as she turns back to the still open door, looping an arm around her waist as she stares out at the street as well. Her hair blows slightly in the wind, the brown curls stirred by the breeze as she faces the outdoors. “The neighborhood?”

“Mmhmm,” Eliza agrees, leaning into Maria with her head resting on the other woman’s shoulder. A hint of pink dusts her cheeks from the chill, but she seems comfortable despite the cool temperature, warm and soft in her wife’s arms.

Maria’s not sure how long they stand there in quiet, staring at the frosted, bare world of early November side by side, seeing the beauty in something so easy to overlook, but she doesn’t want to move for a long time. 

Eliza doesn’t either. 

So they stand there, together and united, watching the world go by.

***

“Hello?” John asks hoarsely, sitting at an empty table in the break room between shifts and waiting on a fresh cup of coffee. His phone was on silent to avoid this exact situation, but in his somewhat drowsy state, he answered it’s buzzing anyway. 

_”Bonjour!”_

“Laf?” he croaks into the phone, glancing at the clock to find it reading 11:21 PM. “Uh, hey. Look, is everything okay? It’s pretty late. Did something happen?”

_”I would say so. Hercules and I spoke. I thought you would like to know.”_

John suddenly wakes up. “Wait, really?” he asks, back straightening as his mind sharpens. “When? Just now?”

 _”Oui. He is leaving for rehab in the morning, but… we are almost okay, I think. It is not going to be forgotten, what almost happened that night, but I have hope that it will be forgiven.”_

“Oh, wow, that’s great, man,” John says, sitting back in his chair and running a hand over his hair, a small, somewhat surprised breath of a smile on his face. “I’m really happy for you guys.”

_”Oui, merci John.”_

“Oh, and Laf?”

_”Yes?”_

“How are you guys holding up over there?” John asks, referring to the family as a whole. His coffee is ready, the Keurig beeping at him from across the room, but he doesn’t get up, not yet. “Y’all doing alright?”

_”Somehow, we are. We all are.”_

“Yeah. Yeah, us too, actually. Somehow, we’re actually getting through this together.”

_”It’s nearly unimaginable, hmm?”_

“Hell yeah.”

It’s not until later that John realizes Laf’s tone has dropped the _lost_ and picked up the _found._

***

Georges feels a strange mix of same and so startlingly different that he isn’t sure which side is currently more prominent. 

It’s weird, really. He shouldn’t have been changed much from this situation, considering he barely remembers half of it. But, still, something feels different than before. Something feels like it’s changed. Not added or taken away, just changed. 

He remembers meeting William in the park, and waking up in a van. He remembers the needles, vaguely, and flashes of a warehouse. His first prominent memory since the van is waking up in a hospital room, Lafayette asleep in a chair beside him with his hand covering Georges’ own. 

After that, it was just a whirlwind of people and doctors and questions for the day and a half he was in the hospital. Lafayette was worried and Hercules was stoic, the two of them not speaking to each other unless the interaction was drastically necessary. Police officers came in to ask him about what happened and what he remembered, and the entire story was soon pieced together. 

It turns out Eacker was beginning to work with a gang, and the initiation process that was pushed upon him was what prompted Theo and Philip’s shootings. His friends he pulled in, like Lawrence and Price, their initiation was kidnapping Georges. William got out just in time. He’s facing an incredible amount of community service hours to make up for his mistakes, but he’s going to be okay after all this. However, all of the guys involved in the situation are in jail for a very long time, except for Price; he’s in jail too, but was given a slightly less intense punishment for his help with locating Georges. 

As for Georges himself, even he’s not sure how he’s doing. People walking behind him kind of freaks him out now, which has Lafayette rushing him to therapists without a second thought to Georges’ protests. Philip and Georges are both going to therapists now, actually, dealing with the aftereffects of everything that’s happened with the support they suddenly both seem to need. They even had a conversation themselves about it (“Hey, what’s it like to be shot?” “Uh, painful. What’s it like to be kidnapped?” “Well, I woke up in the back of a van, so I guess that gives you an idea.”) a while back. Theo is struggling a little too, but she’s doing better. They even think she’ll be out of hospital soon. 

Philip, on the other hand, is stuck there for a while longer. Georges is cool with it, now that Pip’s out of the ICU they can chill together during Georges’ time off from school (Lafayette pulled in some favors), and now that John’s got it so Theo and Philip get to share a room, Georges is finding himself spending a lot of time with those two.

“Yo, G?” 

Georges doesn’t bother looking away from his screen at Philip’s question. He’s laying sprawled out across a bunch of pushed-together chairs across the room, one knee bent and phone balanced over his face. His arms are stretched out over him with his phone in a precariously unsteady position, hair pulled into a neat bun and sweatshirt bunched under his head like a pillow. “‘Sup?” he says in way of response, too distracted in catching up on his Snapchat to really put much thought into the budding conversation. 

Philip has his arms folded behind his head, mindful of the IV that the nurses still flat out refuse to remove despite Philip’s best efforts to convince them otherwise, pillows propped up behind him and expression thoughtful. “Do you ever think about the fact that I got shot?”

That gets his mind off social media. 

Expression somewhat perplexed, Georges sits up, phone suddenly forgotten in his hand. Theo is asleep in the bed across the room and Mattie’s at school, so it’s just the two of them at the moment. “Well, considering we’re sitting in a hospital room as you recover from a gunshot wound, I’d say that yeah, I do,” he says bluntly. He leans forward so his elbows rest on his thighs and his hands hang between his knees, still watching Philip. His attention is instantly refocused onto his friend, off his phone. “Where’s this coming from?”

“And what about you? Do you ever stop and think about how you literally got kidnapped by a bunch of fetal gang members?” Philip continues as if he hadn’t heard Georges, staring up at the ceiling thoughtfully. 

“Uh, yeah, sometimes,” Georges responds flatly. “Dude, seriously, did that nurse accidentally overdose you on painkillers or something-“

“No, no, I’m fine,” Philip breaks in dismissively, gaze flickering over to meet Georges’ for the first time. “Really. But, you know, I’ve been stuck here with a lot of time on my hands and I’ve… well, I’ve been thinking.”

Georges raises an eyebrow, standing and beginning to drag a chair closer to Philip’s bedside, the legs scraping against the tile. “That never ends well.”

“Hardy har,” Philip deadpans as Georges sits down, but his musing expression returns a few seconds later, this time with more intensity. “But, really, we’re sixteen, and we’ve already had to deal with all this shit. How effed up is our world if that’s how it is? How screwed _are_ we?”

Georges sobers up quickly, concern taking over his vague confusion. “Pip, are you sure you’re alright-“

“Dude, for real, I’m fine,” Philip insists. “Come on, I’m just in a deep mood. Be deep with me.”

“My dirty mind can take that literally about thirteen different directions.”

“Well, get your head out of the gutter and talk this over with me. My therapist says this kind of stuff is important.”

“What’s important, putting accidental dirty connotations onto innocent phrases?”

_”Dude.”_

“Okay, fine.” Georges settles into the chair, propping his ankle up on his knee and crossing his arms over his chest. “You wanna get deep, let’s get deep. Please, continue.”

Philip nods in satisfaction, and his gaze flickers back up to the ceiling. “Thank you.” He sighs, pausing. “It’s just… weird, to think about. We’ve survived so much. We’ve gotten through so much and we’re still okay. It’s strange.”

”Okay?” Georges echoes. 

“Yeah. Okay.”

Georges looks from Philip to himself pointedly. “Uh, Pip? You’re still shot, and I’m still low key traumatized. I don’t know about you but I really don’t feel too okay right about now.”

“But you will. We both will.” Philip turns his head to look at Georges again, arms still folded to act as a pillow. “I know we will. But, in the meantime… think about it, we’ve pretty much already survived several things that still terrify people three times our age. So, like, either the rest of our lives are gonna be a piece of cake for getting over this or really, really suck. I’m thinking I’m hoping for the former.”

Letting out a huff of laughter at that, Georges stretches out his legs to prop them up on the mattress, crossed at the ankles. “Same,” he agrees. 

“We’re gonna be okay,” Philip sighs again, as if he’s trying to convince himself along with Georges. But, even in the uncertainty of his tone, his expression is determined, willing and able to do anything it takes to make the sentence true. “We might not be there yet. We might not be there for a while. Like, seriously a while. But we’re gonna get there, alright? We’re gonna reach okay. We’ve gotten through this much, we can take more. We’re gonna be just fine.”

Georges looks at his best friend, lying shot in a hospital bed and musing about the wonders of life. His other best friend lies in a hospital bed on his other side, asleep and healing. Almost unconsciously, his hand comes up to touch the bruise still spreading across his face where he was struck in the van, fingertips grazing the darkened skin. Yeah, they’re not doing great right now. They’re broken and bruised and beaten up, in varying states of disarray. 

But they’re going to be okay. 

They’re going to be okay, and they’re going to be okay together. 

In a world of variables and factors and unpredicted twists and unstable constants, of uncertainty and blindness and hope and fragile trust, where your life can change with every breath you take, where anything can happen without a sliver of warning, Georges is somehow, _somehow_ sure of that. 

“I believe you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just like that it’s over. 
> 
> Thank all of you guys so much for reading this, whether you’ve been here since the beginning or just read it today. I appreciate you and your kudos and your comments way more than I could ever express; y’all are amazing, and I’m seriously going to miss talking with you guys each week. 
> 
> As for what comes next, I’m definitely writing the I Know Greatness Lies in You sequel. The first chapter should be posted in the next couple of weeks. If you’re interested in reading it, I’ll be briefly posting an extra chapter on IKTGLIY itself announcing the sequel when I post it, so if you don’t want to subscribe to me myself, you can just go over and subscribe to I Know That Greatness Lies in You and you’ll know when the sequel’s posted! For guests, it will be posted on a Friday, so check back here then if you’re waiting for it. 
> 
> Special Thanks goes to:  
> Titaniasigma- for your ever present, ever sweet comments.  
> WritingForTheRevolution- for screeching with me each week on top of just being really, really great.  
> defendedbymypen- for some amazing comments that will always be among my favorites.  
> Dach- for your constant, reassuring presence on my works, and your absolutely incredible comments that never fail to make my day.  
> And, of course, Jaysong- you’ve beta’d this thing start to finish. Thank you for listening to every text rant, giving every opinion I demand of you and just being the absolutely amazing person you are. 
> 
> Thank you so much. 
> 
> Alright, I’m going to wrap this up here, but I just want to say thank you again for sticking with this. You are incredible and I have so much appreciation for you. You’ve all been on this journey with me; this fic is as much yours as it is mine, and thank you so, so much for that. 
> 
> Love you guys. <3
> 
> -Sparrow


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